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THE    WOKKS 

OF    THE 

REV.  JOHN  R.  MACDUFF,  D.D. 


1.  Morning  and  Night  Watches.    i6mo, 

2.  The  Footsteps  of  St.  Paul.     i2mo,  lUus 

trated, 

3.  The  Words  of  Jesus.     i6mo, 

4.  The  Mind  of  Jesus.    i6mo,    . 

5.  The  Words  and  Mind  of  Jesus,  in  l  vol. 

6.  Family  Prayers.    i6mo,   .... 

7.  Woodcutter  of  Lebanon  and  Exiles  of 

Lucerna. 

8.  The  Great  Journey :   An  Allegory, 

9.  Little  Child's  Book  of  Divinity.     • 

10.  Evening  Incense.    i6mo, 

11.  Faithful  Promiser  and  Altar  Stones 

12.  Memories  of  Bethany.    i6mo,    . 

13.  Memories  of  Gennesaret.    i2mo, 

14.  The  Bow  in  the  Cloud,  and  the  First 

Bereavement.    i6mo,    .... 

15.  The  Story  of  Bethlehem.    12  plates,  . 
^6.  The  Hart  and  the  Water-Brooks.  • 


60 

1  00 

40 
40 
60 

75 

50 
30 
25 
40 
25 
60 
1  00 

40 
60 
60 


"  The  portion  of  God'S  Word  that  is  specially  precious  to  me,  more  so  than 
I  am  able  to  express,  is  Tsalm  forty-second."— BLarri>-otox  Evaxs'  Life,  p.  399. 

"  "What  a  precious,  soul-comforting  Psalm  is  that  forty -second  !"— Life  ok 
Capt.  Hammo.vp,  p.  280, 


THE    HART 


AOT) 


THE   WATER-BROOKS; 


A  PEACTICAL  EXPOSITION   OF 


THE  FORTY-SEOOM)  PSALM. 


BY   THE^ 

KEY.  JOHN  R.  MACDUFF,  D.D-, 

AUTHOK   OF    "MOEXING   AND    NIGHT    WATCHZS,"'    "MEMORIES   OF   GENXESABET,' 
'•W0ED8   OF  JESCS,"   "THE  FOOTSTEPS  OF  ST.   PAUL,"  ETC.,   ETC. 


NEW    YORK: 
BOBERT  CARTER  AND  BROTHERS 

No.  530    Broadway. 

1860. 


THE  FOETY-SECOND  PSALM, 


IT  To  the  Chief  Musician,  Maschil,  for  the  Sons  of  Korak. 

1  li0  t\)t  fcart  pantctft  after  tfee  tijatcc-trooft^,— ?o  pantctb  mp  ?out 

after  tbce,  <0  45oti. 

2  .Jillj?  sout  tbirstetlE)  for  ^ob,  for  tfte  Ki\jin0  ^ob ;— tobcn  ?&aa  31 

come  anD  appear  liefoue  'iSoO? 

3  jTvln  tears  Jbalie  fceen  mio  meat  Dap  aiib  nigbt, 

iDf)!te  tftep  contimian?  ?ap  unto  me,  Habere  is'  tlf)?  ^oO? 

4  ilT'&enS;  rem.mibir  tfeeee  things,  31  pour  outm?  soul  in  me: 

jfor  %  ftab  ooiic  tnitj)  tfje  muttitube,  31  ttient  toitb  tbem  to  tl^e  tjouae 

of  >irob, 
i^itb  t\)t  noice  of  fop  anb  praise,— toiti)  a  multitube  t^jat  feept  f)Otp 

bap. 

6     MD6p  art  tfiou  cast  boton,<©  mp  ?oul?— anb  totp  art  t&ou  bi^- 
quicteb  in  me  ? 
I^ope  tf)Oit  ni  45ob  :  for  31  jf&aH  pet  praise  t>im 
.4foc  tlje  Jbelp  of  W  countenance  [or,  ^is'  presence  \i  j^altation]. 

6  <©  mp  ^ob,  mp  soul  i^  ca^t  bottn  toit&in  me  : 

(Srfjerefore  ujiH  31  rememlier  tt)ee  from  t&e  lanb  of  3Jorban,  anb  of 

t!;e  ^ermonites, 
i^rom  tbe  feiU  Mm^. 

7  ^Dcep  caHetb  unto  beep  at  t^je  nois"e  of  t!)p  toater-spouti^; 
•?[{{  tbp  ttjalies  anb  tftp  Witm^  are  gone  ovier  me. 

8  Jilt  t&e  liorb  toifl  commanb  fjis  to\5iiig-ftinbness  i«  tl^e  bap-time, 
?tub  m  tl;e  niobt  t)i^'  song  sfjaU  iie  toirb  me, 

3tnb  mp  praper  unto  tbe  -iBob  of  mp  life. 

9  %  uji((  sap  unto  ^ob  mp  rocfe,  H^tp  Ijast  tt)Ou  forgotten  me  ? 
Jli5b«i  go  3'  mouining  because  of  tfte  oppression  of  tt)c  enemp? 


10  X"^  taitf)  a  i5\Morb  in  mp  Iionej^,  mine  enemies  reproaci)  me; 
WUU  tlieji  j^ai?  tJaiTo  unto  me,  iDbciT  is  ;f}:i  ^ob  ? 

11  ill^fe?  art  tfiou  cast  tioton,  <0  mo  soun — anti  'oil)^  art  thou  bi^- 

quii'tcb  ujirljin  me  ? 
^ope  tboii  m  ^od:  for  3!  sfcaH  pet  praise  bim, 
ilDbo  ij^  t&e  tiealtb  of  mp  countenance,  anD  m?  45ob.* 

*  The  title  of  the  Psalm  (7''^ti^Q  Maschil — instruction,)  is  the  same 
as  that  of  other  twelve.  Some  have  referred  the  word  merely  to  the 
music — indicating  the  tune  to  which  the  Psalms  were  set, — demanding  of 
the  sons  of  Korah,  and  "  the  chief  musician,"  (the  conductors  of  temple- 
song,)  some  melody  specially  adapted  to  the  sentiments  they  contain. 
Others,  with  greater  probability,  take  it  as  indicative  of  their  design; — 
that  while  expressive  of  personal  feeling  and  experience,  they  were 
intended  for  the  "  instruction  "  and  comfort  of  the  Church  in  all  ages. 
Hence  the  term  given  to  them  of  didactic. 

Though  his  name  is  not  mentioned,  there  is  little  doubt  that  David, 
and  not  the  sons  of  Korah,  as  some  have  supposed,  was  the  author  of 
this  Psalm.  The  reader  is  referred  to  Hengstenhcrg  for  a  statement  of 
the  internal  grounds,  in  the  Psalm  itself,  to  favour  this  conclusion.  "  To 
me,"  says  Calvin,  "  it  appears  more  probable  that  the  sons  of  Korah  are 
here  mentioned  because  this  Psalm  was  committed  as  a  precious  trea- 
sure to  be  preserved  by  them  ; — as  we  know  that  out  of  the  number  of 
the  singers  some  were  chosen  and  appointed  to  be  keepers  of  the  Psalms. 
That  there  is  no  mention  made  of  David's  name,  does  not  in  itself 
involve  any  difficulty,  since  we  see  the  sa-  'j  omission  in  other  Psalms, 
of  which  there  is,  notwithstanding,  the  suongest  grounds  for  conclud- 
ing that  he  was  author." 

According  to  an  arbitrary  division  by  the  Jews  of  their  Psalter  into 
five  parts,  supposed  to  have  been  made  by  Ezra  after  the  return  from 
Babylon,  the  Forty-second  Psalm  forms  the  commencement  of  the  second 
book.  Regarding  its  structure,  we  may  remark,  that  it  is  divided  into 
tv,  o  portions  or  stro;phes,  each  of  these  closing  with  a  refrain  in  verses 
5  and  11. 


The  following  is  an  excellent  poetical  paraphrase 
of  the  Psalm,  by  Bishop  Lowth  : — 

"As  pants  the  wearied  hart  for  cooling  springs. 

That  sinks  exhausted  in  the  summer's  chase; 
So  pants  my  longing  soul,  great  King  of  kings  ! 

So  thirsts  to  reach  Thy  sacred  dwelling-place. 
On  briny  tears  my  famish'd  soul  hath  fed, 

While  taunting  foes  deride  my  deep  despair; 
'  Say,  where  is  now  thy  Great  Deliverer  fled, 

Thy  mighty  God,  deserted  wanderer,  where  ? ' 

Oft  dwell  my  thoughts  on  those  thrice  happy  days. 
When  to  Thy  fane  I  led  the  willing  throng ; 

Our  mirth  was  worship,  all  our  pleasure  praise. 
And  festal  joys  still  closed  with  sacred  song. 

Why  throb,  my  heart  ?  why  sink,  my  saddening  soul. 
Why  droop  to  earth,  with  various  foes  oppress'd  ? 

My  years  shall  yet  in  blissfvd  circles  roll, 
And  peace  be  yet  an  inmate  of  this  breast. 

By  Jordan's  banks  with  devious  steps  I  stray, 
O'er  Hermon's  rugged  rocks  and  deserts  dear : 

E'en  there  Thy  hand  shall  guide  my  lonely  way, 
There  Thy  remembrance  shall  my  spu'it  cheer. 

In  rapid  floods  the  vernal  torrents  roll, 
Harsh  sounding  cataracts  responsive  roar ; 

Thine  angry  billows  overwhelm  my  soul, 
And  dash  my  shatter'd  bark  from  shore  to  shora 


VI. 


Yet  Thy  sure  mercies  ever  in  my  sight, 

My  heart  shall  gladden  through  the  tedious  dayj 

And  'midst  the  dark  and  gloomy  shades  of  night, 
To  Thee  I  '11  fondly  tune  the  grateful  lay. 

Kock  of  my  hope  !  great  Solace  of  my  heart ! 

Why,  why  desert  the  offspring  of  Thy  care, 
"While  taunting  foes  thus  point  th'  invidious  dart, 

*  Where  is  thy  God,  abandon'd  wanderer,  where  ?' 

Why  faint,  my  soul  ?  why  doubt  Jehovah's  aid  ? 

Thy  God  the  God  of  mercy  still  shall  prove ; 
Within  Ilis  courts  thy  thanks  shall  yet  be  paid, 

Unquestion'd  be  His  pity  and  His  love." 


INTRODUCTORY. 


I.  THE  SCENE  OF  THE  PSALM,  . 
II.  THE  GENERAL  SCOPE  OP  THE  PSALM, 
III.  A  PECULIAR  EXPERIENCE,  . 


CONTENTS  OF  THE  PSALM. 


L  THE  HART  PANTING, 
n.  THE  HART  WOUNDED, 

III.  THE  LIVING  GOD, 

IV.  THE  TAUNT,  . 
V   THE  TAUNT, 

VI.  SABBATH  MEMORIES, 

VII.  HOPE 

VIII.  THE  HILL  MIZAR, 
IX.  THE  CLIMAX, 
X.  LESSONS, 
XI.  FAITH  AND  PRAYER, 
XII.  THE  QUIET  HAVEN,    . 


36 

46 
60 
78 
90 

102 
122 
141 
166 
ISO 
192 


L 


**  Where  is  thy  f avour'd  haunt,  Eternal  Voice, 

The  region  of  Thy  choice, 
Where,  undisturb'd  by  sin  and  earth,  the  soul 

Owns  Thine  entire  control  ? 
'Tis  on  the  mountain's  summit  dark  and  high, 

Where  storms  are  hurrying  by  : 
'Tis  'mid  the  strong  foundations  of  the  earth, 

Wbere  torrents  have  their  birth. 
No  sounds  of  worldly  toil  ascending  there 

Mar  the  full  burst  of  prayer  ; 
Lone  nature  feels  that  she  may  freely  breathe. 

And  round  us  and  beneath 
Are  heard  her  sacred  tones  :  the  fitful  sweep 

Of  winds  across  the  steep. 
The  dashing  waters  where  the  air  is  still. 

From  many  a  torrent  rill — 
Such  sounds  as  make  deep  silence  in  the  heart 

For  thought  to  do  her  part." 

"  The  spot  was  so  attractive  to  me,  as  well  as  the  view  of  the 
surrounding  country  so  charming,  that  I  had  great  difficulty  ii. 
tearing  myself  away  from  it.  In  the  foregi'ound,  at  my  feet,  was 
the  Joi-dan  flowing  through  its  woods  of  tamarisks.  On  the  other 
side  rose  gently  the  plain  of  Beisan  surmounted  by  the  high  ted 
of  that  name.  In  the  distance  were  the  mountains  of  Gilboa — the 
whole  stietch  of  which  is  seen,  even  as  far  as  ancient  Jezreel." — 
Van  de  Veldes  Travels  in  Syria  and  Palestine,  vol.  ii.  p.  355. 


'1 

THE  SCENE  OF  THE  PSALM. 

All  recent  explorers  of  Palestine  speak  in  glowing 
terms  of  that  "  solemn  eastern  back-ground,"  with 
its  mellow  tints  of  blue  and  purple,  rising  con- 
sj^icnous,  as  if  a  wall  built  by  giants,  from  the  deep 
gorge  or  valley  of  the  Jordan.  This  mountain  range, 
and  especially  the  hills  of  Gilead,  wath  their  rugged 
ravines  and  forests  of  sycamore  and  terebinth,  are 
full  of  blended  memories  of  joy  and  sadness.  From 
one  of  these  slopes,  the  Father  of  the  Faithful 
obtained  his  first  view  of  his  children's  heritage. 
On  another,  the  Angels  of  God — the  two  bright 
celestial  bands — greeted  Jacob  on  his  return  from 
his  sojourn  in  Syria.*  From  another,  trains  of  wail- 
ing captives  on  their  way  to  Babylon,  must  oft  and 
again  have  taken  through  their  tears  their  last  look 
of  "  the  mountains  round  about  Jerusalem."  Nigh 
the  same  spot,  the  footsteps  of  our  blessed  Eedeemer 

*  Gen.  xsxii.  L 


4  THE  SCENE  OF  THE  PSALM. 

Himself  lingered,  when  death  was  hovering  over  the 
couch  of  the  friend  He  loved  at  Bethany.  ]\Iartha 
and  Mary,  from  their  Village-home,  must  have  lifted 
their  eyes  to  these  same  *■  hills,"  from  whence  they 
knew,  in  the  extremity  of  their  anguish,  their  ''help" 
alone  could  come.  While,  at  a  later  period,  the 
same  spot  was  rendered  illustrious  as  the  locality 
of  Pella,  the  mountain  fortress  and  asylum  whither 
their  Lord  Md  admonished  His  followers  to  flee, 
when  the  Imperial  Eagles  of  Eome  were  gathered 
by  Titus  around  the  devoted  city.* 

This  "land  beyond  the  Jordan"  still  further  de- 
rives an  imperishable  interest  from  being  the  exile- 
retreat  of  the  Sweet  Singer  of  Israel  in  the  most  pa- 
thetic period  of  his  chequered  life  and  reign.  There 
is  no  more  touching  episode  in  all  Hebrew  history 
than  the  recorded  flioht  of  David  from  his  canital 
on  the  occasion  of  the  rebellion  of  Absalom  and 

*  See  Mr  Stanley's  chapter,  in  his  "  Sinai  and  Palestine,"  on 
"  Persea  and  the  Trans-Jordanic  Tribes,"  in  vv'hich  these  different 
references  are  graphically  grouped  together.  "  The  Pereoan  hills 
rire  the  '  Pisgah  '  of  the  earlier  history  :  to  the  later  history  they 
occupy  the  pathetic  relation  that  has  been  immortalised  in  the 
name  of  '  the  long  ridge,'  from  which  the  first  and  last  view  of 
Granada  is  obtained.  They  are  the  '  Last  Sigh  '  of  the  Israelite 
exile."— (P.  328.) 


THE  SCENE  OF  THE  PSALM.  5 

the  defection  of  his  j^eople.  Passing,  barefoot  and 
weeping,  across  the  brook  Kedron,  and  thence  by 
the  fords  of  Jericho,  he  sped  northwards  with  his 
faithful  adherents,  and  found  a  temporary  shelter 
amid  these  remote  fastnesses. 

Minds  of  a  peculiar  temperament  have  often  found 
it  a  relief,  in  seasons  of  sadness,  to  give  expression 
to  their  pent-up  feelings  in  poetry  or  song.  Ancient 
as  well  as  modern  verse  and  music  abound  with 
striking  examples  of  this, — "  Songs  in  the  Night," 
when  the  mouldering  harp  was  taken  down  from 
the  willows  by  some  captive  spirit,  and  made  to 
pour  forth  its  strains  or  numbers  in  touching 
elegy.  David's  o^m  lament  for  Jonathan  is  a  gush 
of  intensified  feeling  which  will  occur  to  all,  and 
which  could  have  been  penned  only  in  an  agony  of 
tears.* 

It  was  a  spirit  crushed  and  broken  with  other, 
but  not  less  poignant  sorrows,  which  dictated  this 

*  As  an  example  in  modern  poetry,  n-eed  we  refer  to  that  no- 
blest tribute  ever  penned  over  departed  worth,  the  "  In  3Ic- 
moriam"  of  Tennyson;  or  in  modem  song,  to  the  exquisite 
and  plaintive  loveliness  of  this  very  Psalm,  set  to  music  by 
Mendelssohn,  and  so  well  known   by   the  title,   ''As  the  hart 


6  THE  SCENE  OF  THE  PSALM. 

Psalm  of  his  exile.  May  we  not  imagine  that,  in 
addition  to  the  tension  of  feeling  produced  by  his 
altered  fortmies^  there  was  in  the  very  scene  of  his 
banishment,  where  the  plaintive  descant  was  com- 
posed, much  to  inspire  poetic  sentiment  ?  The  alter- 
nate calm  and  discord  of  outer  nature  found  their 
response  in  his  own  chequered  experiences.  Nature's 
-^olian  harp — its  invisible  strings  composed  of 
rustling  leaves  and  foaming  brooks,  or  the  harsher 
tones  of  tempest  and  thunder,  flood  and  waterfall — 
awoke  the  latent  harmonies  of  his  soul.  They  fur- 
nished him  with  a  key-note  to  discourse  higher  me- 
lodies, and  embody  struggling  thoughts  in  inspired 
numbers.  In  reading  this  Psalm  w^e  at  once  feel 
that  we  are  with  the  Minstrel  King,  not  in  the 
Tabernacle  of  Zion,  but  in  some  glorious  "  House 
not  made  with  hands,"  —  some  Cathedral  whose 
aisles  are  rocky  cliffs  and  tangled  branches,  and  its 
roof  the  canopy  of  Heaven ! 

Let  us  picture  him  seated  in  one  of  those  deep 
glens  listening  to  the  murmur  of  the  rivulet  and 
the  wail  of  the  forest.  Suddenly  the  sky  is  over- 
cast. Dark  clouds  roll  their  masses  along  the 
purple  peaks.      The  lightning  flashes ;  and  the  old 


THE  SCENE  OF  THE  PSALM.  7 

oaks  and  terebinths  of  Bashan  bend  under  the  tumult 
of  the  storm.  The  higher  rivulets  have  swelled  the 
channel  of  Jordan, — "  deep  calls  to  deep  " — the  waves 
chafe  and  riot  along  the  narrow  gorges.  Suddenly  a 
struggling  ray  of  sunshine  steals  amid  tbe  strife,  and 
a  stray  note  from  some  bird  answers  joyously  to  its 
gleam.  It  is,  however,  but  a  gleam.  The  sky  again 
threatens,  fresh  bolts  wake  the  mountain  echoes. 
The  river  rolls  on  in  augmented  volume,  and  the 
wind  wrestles  fiercely  as  ever  with  the  denizens  of 
the  forest.  At  last  the  contest  is  at  an  end.  The 
sky  is  calm — the  air  refreshed — the  woods  are  vocal 
with  song — ten  thousand  dripping  boughs  sparkle 
in  the  sunlight ;  the  meadows  wear  a  lovelier 
emerald ;  and  rock,  and  branch,  and  floweret,  are 
reflected  in  the  bosom  of  the  stream. 

As  the  royal  spectator  with  a  poet  and  painter's 
eye  is  gazing  on  this  shifting  diorama,  and  when 
Nature  is  laughing  and  joyous  again  amid  her  own 
tear-drops,  another  simple  incident  arrests  his  atten- 
tion. A  Hart  or  Deer,  hit  by  the  archers  or  pursued 
by  some  wild  beast  on  these  "mountains  of  the 
leopards,"  with  hot  eyeballs  and  panting  sides, 
comes  bounding  down  the  forest  glade  to  quench 


8  THE  SCENE  OF  THE  PSALM. 

the  rage  of  thirst.  The  sight  suggests  nobler  aspi- 
rations. With  trembling  hand  and  tearful  eye  the 
exiled  spectator  awakes  his  harp-strings,  and  be- 
queaths to  us  one  of  the  most  pathetic  musings  in 
the  whole  Psalter.  The  23d  has  happily  been  called 
''  the  nightingale  of  the  Psalms ; "  this  may  a^^pro- 
priately  be  termed  "the  turtle-dove."  We  hear  the 
lonely  bird  as  if  seated  on  a  solitary  branch  warb- 
ling its  "reproachful  music/'  or  rather  struggling 
on  the  ground  with  broken  wing,  uttering  a  doleful 
lament.  These  strains  form  an  epitome  of  the  Chris- 
tian life — a  diary  of  religious  experience,  which, 
after  three  thousand  years,  find  an  echo  in  every 
heart.  Who  can  wonder  that  they  have  smoothed 
the  death-pillow  of  dying  saints,  and  taken  a  thorn 
from  the  crown  of  the  noble  army  of  martyrs  !  * 

*  I  refer  the  reader  to  the  words  quoted  on  the  title-page. 
They  form  the  dyuig  testimony  and  experience  of  one  of  the 
holiest  men  of  any  age.  We  have  seen  in  the  possession  of  a 
revered  friend,  the  Bible  which  belonged  to  the  gi-eat  Marquis  of 
Argyle,  and  which  formed  his  constant  companion  during  the 
period  of  his  imprisonment.  Almost  every  verse  of  the  42d 
Psalm  is  specially  marked.  Some  of  the  verses,  such  as  the  third, 
are  noted  with  a  dovible  stroke.  We  may  well  imagine  him,  after 
closing  such  "an  afflicted  man's  companion,"  thus  writing  to  hia 
Marchioness — "  They  may  shut  me  in  prison  where  they  please, 
but  thev  cannot  shut  out  God  from  me." 


n. 


"  Like  unto  ships  far  off  at  sea, 
Outward  or  homeward  bound  are  we ; 
Before,  behir^,  and  all  around 
Floats  and  swings  the  horizon's  bound ; 
Seems  at  its  outer  rims  to  rise, 
And  climb  the  crystal  wall  of  the  skies ; 
And  then  again  to  turn  and  sink, 
As  if  we  could  slide  from  its  outer  brink. 
Ah  !  it  is  not  the  sea  that  sinks  and  shelves. 
But  ourselves 
That  rock  and  rise 
With  endless  and  uneasy  motion — 
Now  touching  the  very  skies, 
Now  sinking  into  the  depths  of  ocean." 

"  The  Scriptures  have  laid  a  flat  opposition  between  faith  and 
sense.  We  live  by  faith  and  not  by  sense.  They  are  two  buckets 
— the  life  of  faith  and  the  life  of  sense ;  when  one  goes  up,  the 
other  goes  down," — Bridge,  1637. 

"  There  are  twins  striving  within  me ;  a  Jacob  and  an  Esau. 
I  can,  through  Thy  grace,  imitate  Thy  choice,  and  say  with 
Thee,  Jacob  have  I  loved,  and  Esau  have  I  hated.  Blessed  God  ! 
make  Thou  that  word  of  Thine  good  in  me,  that  the  elder  shall 
serve  the  younger y — Bishop  Hall,  1656. 


n. 

THE  GENEKAL  SCOPE  OF  THE  PSALM. 

'^F  the  Book  of  Psalms  be,  as  some  have  styled 
it,  a  mirror  or  looking-glass  of  pious  and  devout 
affections,  this  Psalm,  in  particular,  deserves  as 
much  as  any  one  Psalm  to  be  so  entitled,  and  is 
as  proper  as  any  other  to  kindle  and  excite  such 
in  us.  Gracious  desires  are  here  strong  and  fervent ; 
gracious  hopes  and  fears,  joys  and  sorrows,  are 
here  struggling.  Or  we  may  take  it  for  a  conflict 
between  sense  and  faith ;  sense  objecting,  and  faith 
answering."  * 

In  these  few  words,  the  Father  of  commentators, 
with  his  wonted  discernment,  has  given  us  the  key  to 
the  true  interpretation  of  this  sacred  song.  It  may 
be  regarded,  indeed,  as  the  Old  Testament  parallel 
to  the  7th  chapter  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Eomans,  in 
v.'hich  another  inspired  Avi^iter  truthfully  and  power- 
fully  portrays   the    same   great   struggle    between 

♦  Matthew  Henry. 


l'^  THE  GENERAL  SCOPE  OF  THE  PSALM. 

coiTuption  and  grace,  faith  and  sense,  "  the  old  and 
the  new  man." 

There  are  two  antagonist  principles  in  the  heart 
of  every  believer,  corresponding  to  the  great  forces 
which  act  in  the  material  world.  The  tendency  of 
his  new  nature  is  to  gravitate  towards  God — the 
Divine  Sun  of  his  being — the  centre  of  his  fondest 
affections  —  the  object  of  his  deej)est  love.  But 
"  there  is  a  law  in  his  members  warring  against  the 
law  of  his  mind  ;''* — the  remains  of  his  old  nature, 
leading  him  to  wander  in  wide  and  eccentric  orbit 
from  the  grand  Source  of  light,  and  happiness,  and 
joy!  "  What  will  ye  see  in  the  ShulamiteV 
asks  the  Spouse  in  the  Canticles,  personating  the 
believer,  (at  a  time,  too,  when  conscious  of  devoted 
attachment  to  the  Lord  she  loved).  The  reply 
is,  "  As  it  were  the  company  of  tiuo  armies."  (Sol. 
Song  vi.  13.)  Sight  on  the  one  hand,  Faith  on  the 
other.  The  carnal  mind,  which  is  enmity  against 
God,  battling  with  the  renewed  spiritual  mind, 
which  brings  life  and  peace.  Affections  heaven- 
born,  counteracted  and  marred  by  affections  earth- 
born.     The  magnet  would  be  true  to  its  pole  but 

*  Rom.  vii.  23. 


THE  GENERAL  SCOPE  OF  THE  PSALM.     13 

for  disturbing  moral  influences.  The  eagle  would 
soar,  but  it  is  chained  to  the  cage  of  corruption. 
The  believer  would  tread  boldly  on  the  waves,  but 
unbelief  threatens  to  sink  him.  He  would  fight 
the  battles  of  the  faith,  but  there  is  "  a  body  of 
death"  chained  to  his  heavenly  nature,  which  com- 
pels him  to  mingle  denunciations  of  himself  as  "a 
wretched  man"  with  the  shouts  of  victory.* 

We  may  imagine  David,  when  he  composed 
this  Psalm,  wrapped  in  silent  contemplation  — 
the  past,  the  present,  and  the  future  suggesting 
mingled  reflections.  The  shepherd,  the  king,  the 
fugitive  1  Sad  comment  on  the  alternations  of 
human  life !  humbling  lesson  for  God's  Anointed ! 
It  furnishes  him  with  a  true  estimate  of  the  world's 
gTcatness.  It  has  taught  him  the  utter  nothingness 
of  all  here  as  a  portion  for  the  soul.  Amid  out- 
ward trial  and  inward  despondency,  Faith  looks  to 
its  only  true  refuge  and  resting-place.  His  truant 
heart  softened  and  saddened  by  calamity,  turns  to 
its  God, — ''As  the  hart  j:)a72^(?^/i  after  the  luater- 
hrooks,  so  panteth  my  soul  after  thee,  0  God. 
My  soul  thirsteth  for  God,  for  the  living  God: 

*  Rom.  vii.  24,  25. 


14  THE  GENERAL  SCOPE  OF  THE  PSALM. 

lulien  shall  I  come  and  ajJpear  before  God  ? "  (Ver. 
1,  2.)  But  the  wave  is  beaten  back  again !  He 
remembers  Ms  sins  and  his  sorrows,  and  (more 
galling  to  his  sensitive  spirit)  the  taunts  of  ungodly 
scoffers.  "  2[y  tears  have  been  my  meat  day  and 
night,  luhile  they  continually  say  unto  me,  Where 
is  thy  God  ?  "  (Ver.  3.)  Moreover,  he  is  denied  the 
solace  of  public  ordinances.  He  can  no  longer,  as 
once  he  could,  light  the  decaying  ashes  of  his 
faith  at  the  fires  of  the  altar.  Memory  dwelt 
with  chastened  sadness  on  the  hours  of  holy  con- 
vocation. "  When  I  remember  these  things,  I 
jJour  out  my  soid  in  me :  for  I  had  gone  luith  the 
multitude,  I  went  luith  them  to  the  house  of  God, 
luith  the  voice  of  joy  and  praise,  tvith  a  midtitude 
that  kept  holy  day"  (Ver.  4.)  But,  once  more,  the 
new-born  principle  regains  the  mastery.  He  rebukes 
jiis  own  unbelief,  urges  renewed  dependence  on 
God,  and  triumphs  in  the  assurance  of  His  coun- 
tenance and  love.  "  Why  art  thou  cast  down,  0 
my  soul  ?  and  ivhy  art  thou  disquieted  in  me  ?■  hope 
thou  in  God:  for  I  shall  yet  praise  him  for  the  help 
of  his  countenance.''  (Ver.  5.)  But  again  the  harp 
is   muffled!      Unbelief  musters   her   ranks;    fresh 


THE  GENEEAL  SCOPE  OF  THE  PSALM.     15 

remembrances  of  sin  and  sorrow  crowd  upon  him. 
"0  ray  God,  my  soul  is  cast  down  ivithin  me!' 
(Ver.  6.)  Faith,  however,  has  its  antidote  at  hand, 
and  the  momentary  cause  of  depression  is  removed. 
The  memory  of  former  succours  and  mercies  inspires 
with  confidence  for  the  future,  and  he  immediately 
adds,  "  I  ivill  remember  Thee  (in  this  the  place  of 
my  Exile)  from  the  land  of  Jordan,  and  of  the 
Hermonites,  from  the  hill  Mizar." 

But  the  storm-clouds  are  still  wreathing  his  sky ; 
— nay,  it  seems  as  if  the  tempest  were  deepening. 
Fresh  assaults  of  temptation  are  coming  in  upon 
him  ; — there  seems  no  light  in  the  cloud,  no  ray  in 
the  darkness.  "Deep  calleth  unto  deep  at  the  noise 
of  thy  lu at er- spouts ;  all  thy  ivaves  and  thy  billows 
are  gone  over  me."  (Ver.  7.)  But  again,  his  own 
extremity  is  God's  opportunity ;  Faith  is  seen 
cresting  the  resurgent  waves.  Lifting  his  voice 
above  the  storm,  he  thus  expresses  his  assurance  in 
God's  faithfulness,  "  Yet  the  Lord  will  command  his 
loving -kindness  in  the  day-time,  and  in  the  night 
his  song  shall  be  ivith  me,  and  my  prayer  unto  the 
God  of  my  life!'  (Ver.  8.)  Nay,  he  resolves  in  all 
time  to  come  to  provide  against  the  return  of  seasons 


10     THE  GENERAL  SCOPE  OF  THE  PSALM. 

of  guilty  distrust  and  misgiving.  He  dictates  and 
transcribes  the  very  words  of  a  jDrayer  to  be  em- 
ployed as  an  antidote  in  any  such  recurring  moments 
of  despondency.  He  resolves  to  rise  above  frames 
and  feelings,  and  to  j)lant  his  feet  on  the  Rock 
of  Ages,  which  these  fluctuating  billows  can  never 
shake  ; — "  /  will  say  unto  God  my  rock,  Why  hast 
thou  forgotten  me  ?  why  go  I  mourning  because 
of  the  oppression  of  the  enemy  V  (Ver.  9.)  The 
Old  nature  makes  one  last  and  final  effort,  ere  aban- 
doning the  conflict.  Unbelief  rallies  its  strength.  A 
former  assault  is  renewed.  "  As  with  a  sword  in 
my  hones,  mine  enemies  reproach  me;  while  they  say 
daily  unto  me,  Where  is  thy  God  V  (Ter.lO.)  But  he 
reverts  to  his  prayer !  He  adopts  his  own  liturgy  for 
a  time  of  sorrow.  "  Why  art  thou  cast  doivn,  0  my 
soul  .^  and  luhy  art  thou  disquieted  luithin  me  t  hope 
thou  in  God;  for  I  shall  yet  praise  Him!'  (Ver.  11.) 
He  seems  to  be  "  answered  while  yet  speaking;"  for 
he  closes  with  the  joyful  declaration,  *'  Who  is  the 
health  of  my  countenance,  and  my  God."  (Ver.  11.) 
He  had  made  a  similar  assertion  in  a  former  verse 
(ver.  5),  "/  shall  yet  praise  him  for  the  help  of  his 
countenance ;''  but  now  he  can  add  the  language  of 


THE  GENERAL  SCOPE  OF  THE  PSALM.     17 

triumpliaiit  assurance,  "  My  God !"  The  conflict  is 
ended;— sense  quits  the  field,  and  faith  conquers. 
He  began  the  Psalm  in  trouble,  he  ends  it  with  joy. 
Its  notes  throughout  are  on  the  minor  key,  but 
these  merge  at  last  into  a  strain  of  triumph.  He 
began  comparing  himself  to  the  stricken  deer— the 
helpless,  breathless,  panting  fugitive ;— he  ends  it 
with  angels'  words,— with  the  motto  and  watchword 
in  which  a  seraph  might  well  glory— heaven  knows 
no  happier—"  My  God  ! " 

"He  looked,"  says  Matthew  Henry,  "upon  the 
living  God  as  his  chief  good,  and  had  set  his  heart 
upon  Him  accordingly,  and  was  resolved  to  live 
and  die  by  Him ;  and  casting  anchor  thus  at  first, 
he  rides  out  the  storm," 

0  child  of  God!  touchingly  expressive  picture 
have  we  here  of  the  strange  vicissitudes  in  thy 
history.  The  shuttle  in  the  web  of  thy  spiritual 
life,  darting  hither  and  thither,  weaving  its  chame- 
leon hues  ;  or,  to  adopt  a  more  appropriate  emblem, 
thy  heart  a  battle-field,  and  "no  discharge  in  that 
war  "  till  the  pilgrim-armour  be  exchanged  for  the 
pilgrim-rest  -.—sense  and  sin  doing  their  utmost  to 


18  THE  GENERAL  SCOPE  OF  THE  PSALM. 

quencli  the  bivouac-fires  of  faith,  and  give  the 
eiieni}^  the  advantage :  ay,  and  they  tuould  succeed 
in  quenching  these,  did  not  the  Lord  of  pilgrims 
feed  with  the  oil  of  His  own  grace  the  languishing 
flame.  "  Sometimes,"  it  has  been  well  said,  "  in  the 
Voyages  of  the  Soul,  we  feel  that  we  can  only  go 
by  anxious  soundings, — the  compass  itself  seeming 
useless — not  knowino-  our  bearino-s — nearino-  here 
Christ — then  perhajDS  the  dim  tolling  bell  amidst 
the  thick  darkness  warning  us  to  keep  off/'  *  But 
fear  not ;  He  will  "  bring  you  to  the  haven  where 
ye  would  be."  The  voice  of  triumph  will  be  heard 
high  above  the  water-floods.  The  contest  may  be 
long,  but  it  will  not  be  doubtful.  He  who  rules 
the  raging  of  the  sea  will,  in  His  own  good  time, 
say,  "  Peace,  be  still,  and  immediately  there  will 
be  a  great  calm."  Have  you  ever  watched  the 

career  of  the  tiny  branch  or  withered  leaf  which 
has  been  tossed  into  a  little  virgin  rill  on  one 
of  our  high  table-lands  or  mountain  moors  ?  For  a 
while,  in  its  serpentine  course,  it  is  borne  sluggishly 
along,  impeded  by  protruding  moss,  or  stone,  or 
lichen.     Now  it   circles   and  saunters   hither   and 

*  Cheever's  "  Windings." 


THE  GENEEAL  SCOPE  OF  THE  PSALM.  19 

thither  on  the  lazy  streamlet — now  floating  back 
towards  the  point  of  departure,  as  if  uncertain  which 
direction  to  choose.  A  passing  breath  of  wind  carries 
it  to  the  centre,  and  the  buoyant  rivulet  sings  its  way 
joyously  onward,  bearing  its  little  burden  through 
copse,  and  birch,  and  heather.  But  again  it  is  ob- 
structed. Some  deep  inky  pool  detains  it  in  the 
narrow  ravme.  There  it  is  sucked  in,  whirled  and 
twisted  about,  chafed  and  tortured  with  the  conflict 
of  waters  ;  or  else  it  lies  a  helpless  prisoner,  immured 
by  the  rocks  in  their  fretting  caldrons.  But  by  and 
by,  with  a  new  impulse  it  breaks  away  along  the 
rapid  torrent -stream,  bounding  over  cascade  and 
water-fall,  home  to  its  ocean  destiny. 

So  it  is  with  the  Soul !  It  is  often  apparently  the 
sport  and  captive  of  opposing  currents.  It  has  its 
pools  of  darkness,  its  eddies  of  unbelief,  its  jagged 
rocks  of  despair,  but  it  will  eventually  clear  them  all. 
"  All  motion,"  to  use  the  words  of  one  of  the  best 
and  saintliest  of  the  old  writers  on  this  very  Psalm 
(Sibbs),  and  which  carry  out  our  illustration,  "All 
motion  tends  to  rest,  and  ends  in  it.  God  is  the 
centre  and  resting-place  of  the  soul ;  and  here  David 
takes  up  his  rest,  and  so  let  us.     We  see  that  dis- 


20     THE  GENERAL  SCOPE  OF  THE  PSALM. 

cussing  of  objections  in  the  consistory  of  the  Soul, 
settles  the  Soul  at  last — Faith  at  leno-th  silencinor 
all  risings  to  the  contrary.  Then  whatsoever  times 
come,  we  are  sure  of  a  hiding-place  and  a  sanctuary." 

Yes !  your  life,  notwithstanding  all  these  fluc- 
tuations, will  end  triumphantly.  It  may,  as  in 
this  Psalm,  be  now  a  psean,  then  a  dirge ;  now  a 
Miserere,  then  a  Te  Deum.  The  Miserere  and  Te 
Deum  may  be  interweaved  throughout ;  but  the  lat- 
ter will  close  the  Life-story — the  concluding  strain 
will  ba  the  anthem  of  Victory.  You  may  arrest  the 
arrow  in  its  flight — you  may  chain  the  water-fall,  or 
stay  the  lightning,  sooner  than  unsay  the  words  of 
God,  "  He  that  hath  begun  a  good  work  in  you 
will  perform  it  until  the  day  of  Jesus  Christ!' 
(Phil.  i.  6.) 

Eemember,  God  does  not  say,  that  "  good  work  " 
is  never  to  be  impeded.  He  has  never  given  promise 
in  Scripture  of  an  unclouded  day — ^uninterrupted 
sunshine — a  waveless,  stormless  sea.  No,  "  the  morn- 
ing without  clouds"  is  a  heavenly  emblem.  The 
earthly  one  is  "a  day,  in  v*dnch  the  light  shall  neither 
be  clear  nor  dark."  (Zech.  xiv.  6.)  The  analogy  of 
the  outer  world  of  nature,  at  least  under  these  our 


THE  GENERAL  SCOPE  OF  THE  PSALM.     21 

chequered  and  ever-varying  skies,  teaches  us  this. 
Spring  comes  smiling,  and  pours  her  blossoms  into 
the  lap  of  Summer.  But  the  skies  lower,  and  the 
rain  and  battering  hail  descend,  and  the  virgin 
blossoms  droop  their  heads  and  almost  die.  Sum- 
mer again  smiles  and  the  meadows  look  gay ;  the 
flowers  ring  merry  chimes  with  their  leaves  and 
petals,  and  Autumn  with  glowing  face  is  opening  her 
bosom  for  the  expected  treasure.  But  all  at  once 
drought  comes  with  her  fiery  footsteps.  Every 
blade  and  floweret,  gasping  for  breath,  lift  their 
blanched  eyelids  to  the  brazen  sky ;  or  the  night-winds 
rock  the  laden  branches  and  strew  the  ground.  Thus 
we  see  it  is  not  one  unvarying,  unchecked  progres- 
sion, from  the  opening  bud  to  the  matured  fruit. 
But  every  succeeding  month  is  scarred  and  muti- 
lated by  drought  and  moisture,  wind  and  rain,  storm 
and  sunshine.  Yet,  never  once  has  Autumn  failed 
to  gather  up  her  golden  sheaves ;  ay,  and  if  you 
ask  her  testimony,  she  will  tell  that  the  very  storm, 
and  wind,  and  rain  you  dreaded  as  fees,  were  the 
best  auxiliaries  in  filling  her  yellow  garners. 

If  the  experience  of  any  one  here  present  be  that 
of  ''the  deep"'  and  "the  water-flood "—" the  stormy 


22     THE  GENEEAL  SCOPE  OF  THE  PSALM. 

wind  and  tempest,"  think  ever  of  the  closing  words  of 
the  Psahn,  and  let  them  "  turn  your  mourning  into 
dancing;  take  off  your  sackcloth,  and  gird  you  with 
gladness!"  You  may  change  towards  God,  but  He 
is  unchanging  towards  you.  The  stars  may  be 
swept  from  our  view  by  intervening  clouds,  but 
they  shine  bright  as  ever, — undimmed  altar-fires  in 
the  great  temple  of  the  universe.  Our  vision  may 
be  at  fault,  but  not  their  radiance  and  undying 
glory.  The  Being  "not  confined  to  temj^les  made 
with  hands,"  who  met  this  wrestler  of  old  in  the 
forest  of  Gilead,  and  poured  better  than  Gilead's  balm 
into  his  bosom,  is  the  same  now  as  He  was  then. 
And  if  thou  art  a  wrestler  too.  He  seems  through 
the  moaning  of  the  storm  to  say,  "  Though  thou 
fall,  yet  shalt  thou  not  he  cast  doiun  utterly,  for  the 
Lord  upholdeth  thee  ivith  his  right  hand." 

''My  God  !"  Oh,  if  that  be  the  last  entry  in  the 
Diary  of  religious  experience,  be  not  desponding 
now  because  of  present  passing  shadows,  but  "  thank 
God  and  take  courage."  It  is  written  that  "at  even- 
ing-time it  shall  be  light."  (Zech.  xiv.  7.)  The  sun 
may  wade  all  day  through  murky  clouds,  but  he 
will  pillow  his  head  at  night  on  a  setting  couch  of 


THE  GENEEAL  SCOPE  OF  THE  PSALM.     23 

vermilion  and  gold.  "  Thouo-h  ye  have  lien  among 
the  pots,  yet  shall  ye  be  as  the  wings  of  a  dove 
covered  with  silver,  and  her  feathers  with  yellow 
gold."*  It  was  said  by  aged  Jacob,  in  his  prophetic 
death-song,  regarding  that  very  tribe  on  the  borders 
of  which  the  royal  exile  now  sang,  "  Gad,  a  troop 
shall  overcome  him:  hut  he  shall  overcome  at  the 
last."  f  Was  not  this  the  key-note  of  his  present 
elegy?  Faith  could  lift  its  head  triumphant  in  the 
clang  of  battle,  amid  these  troops  of  spiritual  plun- 
derers, and  sing,  "  Though  an  host  should  encamp 
against  me,  my  heart  shall  not  fear :  though  war 
should  rise  against  me,  in  this  will  I  he  confi- 
dent!'% 

*  Ps.  Ixviii.  13.  t  Gen.  xlix.  19.  J  Ps,  xxvii.  3. 


III. 

%  ^miliar  €%pximt 


"  I  ask'd  the  Lord  that  I  might  gro-vv 
lu  faith,  and  love,  and  every  grace ; 
Might  more  of  His  salvation  know. 
And  seek  more  earnestly  His  face. 

**  'Twas  He  who  taught  me  thus  to  pray; 
And  He,  I  trust,  has  answer'd  prayer. 
But  it  has  been  in  such  a  way 
As  almost  drove  me  to  despair, 

"  I  hoped  that  in  some  favour'd  hour 
At  once  He  'd  answer  my  request ; 
And  by  His  love's  constraining  power. 
Subdue  my  sins  and  give  me  rest. 

*'  Instead  of  this,  He  made  me  feel 
The  hidden  evils  of  my  heart ; 
And  let  the  angry  powers  of  hell 
Assault  my  soul  in  every  part." 

— Cowper. 

"  If  we  listen  to  David's  harp,  we  shall  hear  as  many  hearse- 
like harmonies  as  carols." — Lord  Bacon. 

"  If  we  be  either  in  outward  affliction  or  in  inward  distress,  we 
may  accommodate  to  ourselves  the  melancholy  expressions  we 
find  here.  If  not,  we  must  sympathise  with  those  whose  case 
they  speak  too  plainly,  and  thank  God  it  is  not  our  own  case." — 
Matthew  Henry. 


III. 

A  PECULIAR  EXPEKIENCE. 

Although  this  Psalm,  in  bold  and  striking  figure, 
presents  a  faithful  miniature  picture  of  tlie  Believer's 
life,  we  must  regard  it  as  depicting  an  extraordi- 
nary experience  at  a  peculiar  passage  of  David's 
history,  and  which  has  its  counterpart  still  in  that 
of  many  of  God's  children. 

The  writer  of  the  Psalm  was  evidently  undergoing 
"  spiritual  depression  " — what  is  sometimes  spoken 
of  as  ''  spiritual  desertion," — that  sorrow,  awful  in 
its  reality — too  deep  for  utterance — dee^Dcr  than  the 
yawning  chasm  made  by  family  bereavement — the 
sorrow  of  all  sorrows,  the  loss  of  God  in  the  soul ! 

There  is  much  caution  needed  in  speaking  of  this. 
There  are  causes  which  lead  to  spiritual  depression 
which  are  purely  physical,  arising  from  a  diseased 
body,  an  overstrung  mind — a  succession  of  calamities 
weakening  and  impairing  the  nervous  system.  We 
know  how  susceptible  are  the  body  and  mind  to- 
gether,   of   being    affected   by  external   influences. 


26  A  PECULIAR  EXrEPJE^'CE. 

"  We  are,"  says  an  able  analyser  of  human  emotions, 
"  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made.  Of  that  consti- 
tution wliich  in  our  ignorance  we  call  union  of  soul 
and  body,  we  know  little  respecting  what  is  cause, 
and  what  effect.  We  would  fain  believe  that  the 
mind  has  2:)0wer  over  the  body  ;  but  it  is  just  as  true 
that  the  body  rules  the  mind.  Causes  aj^parently 
the  most  trivial — a  heated  room,  want  of  exercise — 
a  sunless  day,  a  northern  aspect — will  maS:e  all  the 
difference  between  happiness  and  unhappiness  ;  be- 
tween faith  and  doubt ;  between  courage  and  inde- 
cision. To  our  fancy  there  is  something  humiliating 
in  being  thus  at  the  mercy  of  our  animal  organism. 
We  would  fain  find  nobler  causes  for  our  emo- 
tions." *  Yes — many  of  those  sighs  and  tears,  and 
morbid,  depressed  feelings,  which  Christians  speak 
of  as  the  result  of  spiritual  darkness  and  the  deser- 
tion of  God,  are  merely  the  result  of  physical  de- 
rangement, the  penalty  often  for  the  violation  of 
the  laws  of  health.  The  atmosphere  we  breathe  is 
enough  to  account  for  them.  They  come  and  go — 
rise  and  fall  with  the  mercury  in  the  tube.  These 
are  cases,  not  for  the  spiritual,  but  for  the  bodily 

*  Rev.  Fred.  Robertson's  "  Sermons ;   Second  Series,"  p.  %5. 


A  PECULIAR  EXPERIENCE.  27 

physician.  Their  cure  is  in  attendance  to  the  usual 
laws  and  prescriptions  which  regulate  the  healthy 
action  of  the  bodily  functions. 

There  is  another  class  of  causes  which  lead  to 
spiritual  depression  which  are  partly  physical  and 
partly  religious.  There  must  necessarily  be  depres- 
sion where  there  is  undue  elation  ;  where  the  soul- 
structure  is  built  on  fluctuating  frames  and  feelings, 
and  the  religious  life  is  made  more  subjective  than 
objective. 

Many  imagine,  unless  they  are  at  all  times  in  a  glow 
of  fervour — an  ecstatic  frame  of  feeling — all  must  be 
wrong  with  them.*  Now,  there  is  nothing  more  dan- 
gerous or  deceptive  than  a  life  of  mere  feeling  ;  and 
its  most  dangerous  phase  is  a  life  of  religious  emo- 
tional excitement.  It  is  in  the  last  degree  erroneous 
to  consider  all  this  glowing  ecstasy  of  frame  a  neces- 
sary condition  of  healthy  spiritual  life.     Artificial 

*  "  You  will  not  be  asked  in  the  last  Great  Day  whether  you 
had  great  enjoyment  and  much  enlargement  of  soul  here.  Speak 
to  that  vast  multitude,  which  no  man  can  number,  now  around 
the  throne.  Ask  them  whether  they  came  through  much  conso- 
lation and  joy  in  the  Lord.  No  !  through  mvich  tribulation.  Ask 
them  whether  they  were  saved  by  their  warmth  of  love  to  their 
Saviour.  Xo  !  but  they  had  washed  their  robes,  and  made  them 
white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb." — Miss  Plumptre's  Letters. 


28  A  PECULIAR  EXPERIENCE. 

excitement,  in  any  shape,  is  perilous.  Apart  alto- 
gether from  the  moral  and  religious  aspect  of  the 
question,  the  tendency  of  the  ball-room  and  theatre, 
and  a  preference  in  reading  for  works  of  fiction, 
is  to  make  a  man  nauseate  the  plain,  commonplace 
work,  the  occurrences  and  themes  of  this  every-day 
world.  Feed  him  on  dainties  and  forced  meats,  and 
he  despises  husks  and  plain  fare.  Equally  true  is 
this  with  regard  to  the  life  of  the  soul.  It  is  not 
fed  on  luscious  stimulants  and  ecstatic  experiences. 
When  it  is  so,  the  result  is  every  now  and  then 
a  collapse;  like  a  child  building  his  mimic  castle 
too  high,  the  perpendicular  and  equilibrium  are 
lost.  It  totters  and  falls,  and  he  has  just  to  begin 
again.  The  dew  distils,  and  hangs  its  spangled 
jewels  on  blade  and  flower,  gently  and  in  silence. 
The  rain  comes  do^vn  in  tiny  particles  and  soft 
showers,  not  in  drenching  water-floods.  So  the 
healthy  Christian  holds  on  the  even  tenor  of  his 
way,  unaff"ected  by  the  barometer  of  feeling.  He 
knows  this  is  apt  to  be  elevated  and  depressed  by 
a  thousand  accidents  over  which  he  has  no  control. 
His  life  is  fed,  not  from  the  fitful  and  uncertain 
streams  issuinoj  from  the  low  ground  of  his  own 


A  PECULIAR  EXPEKIENCE.  29 

experience,  but  from  the  snow-clad  summits — the 
Alps  of  God.  Were  he  thus  suffering  himself  to 
depend  on  the  rills  of  his  own  feelings,  his  brook 
would  often  be  dry  in  summer — the  season  when 
he  most  needed  it ;  whereas  the  supply  from  the 
glacier-beds  on  which  the  sun  shines,  is  fullest  in 
these  very  times  of  drought. 

Add  to  this,  religion  is  shorn  of  its  glory  when  it 
is  dwarfed  into  a  mere  thing  of  sentiment  and  feel- 
ing. Its  true  grandeur  and  greatness  is,  when  it 
incorporates  itself  with  active  duty,  and  fulfils  its 
best  definition  as  not  a  "  being "  but  a  "  doing." 
Of  nothing,  therefore,  do  we  require  to  be  more 
jealous,  than  a  guilty,  unmanly,  morbid  dwelling  on 
feelings  and  experiences.  You  remember  Elijah, 
when  he  fled  pusillanimous  and  panic-stricken 
from  his  work,  and  took  to  a  hermit-cell  amid  the 
solitudes  of  Sinai.  We  find  him  seated  in  his 
lonely  cave,  his  head  drooping  on  his  breast,  sullen 
thought  mantling  his  brow,  muttering  his  querulous 
soliloquy,  "I  am  left  alone.''  The  voice  of  God 
hunts  out  the  fugitive  from  duty.  ''What  doest 
thou  here,  Elijah  ?  Why  in  this  cave,  brooding  in 
a  coward  spirit,  unworthy  of  thee?     Art  thou  to 


80  A  PECULTAE  EXPEEIENCE. 

cease  to  work  for  Me,  because  the  high  day  of 
excitements  on  the  heights  of  Carmel  are  over? 
Here  is  food  to  strengthen  thy  body,  and  here  is 
'the  still,  small  voice'  of  my  love  to  strengtlien 
thy  soul.  Go  forth  to  active  duty.  Leave  tliy  cave 
and  thy  cloak  behind  thee.  Take  thy  pilgrim 
staff  and  scrip,  and  with  the  consciousness  of  a 
great  work  in  hand,  and  a  brief  time  to  do  it  in, 
arise,  and  onward  to  Horeb,  the  mount  of  God ! " 
(1  Kings  xix.) 

But  having  thrown  out  these  preliminary  cautions, 
the  question  occurs :  Are  there  no  cases  of  spi- 
ritual depression  or  desertion,  arising  purely  from 
spiritual  causes  ? 

"We  answer.  Yes.  The  Bible  recognises  such. 
Spiritual  darkness — absence  of  all  spiritual  comfort 
and  joy — is  no  figment  of  man's  theological  creed. 
It  is  a  sad  and  solemn  verity — the  experience,  too, 
of  God's  own  children.  "  Wlio  is  among  you  that 
feareth  the  Lord,  that  obeyeth  the  voice  of  his 
servant,  that  walheth  in  darkness,  and  hath  no 
light  r'  (Isa.  1.  10.)  "Oh,"  says  the  afflicted 
patriarch    of    Uz,    "  that   I    were    as    in    months 


A  PECULIAR  EXPERIENCE.  31 

past,  as  in  the  days  when  God  preserved  me ; 
when  his  candle  shined  upon  my  head,  and  when 
by  his  light  I  walked  through  darkness/'  (Job 
xxix.  2,  3.)  "In  my  prosperity,'"  is  the  testimony  of 
David,  at  a  later  period  of  his  life,  "  I  said,  I  shall 
never  be  moved.  Lord,  by  thy  favour  thou  hast 
made  my  mountain  to  stand  strong :  tliou  didst 
hide  thy  face,  and  I  luas  ti^ouhled."  (Ps.  xxx.  5-7.) 
"  I  will  rise  now,  and  go  about  the  city  in  the  streets, 
and  in  the  broad  ways  I  will  seek  him  whom 
my  soul  loveth :  /  souglit  him,  hut  I  found  him 
not.  .  .  .  My  beloved  had  ivithdrawn  himself  and 
was  gone:  my  soul  failed  when  he  spake  :  I  sought 
Jiim,  hut  I  could  not  find  him  ;  I  called  him,  hut  he 
gave  me  no  ansiuer."  (Sol.  Song  iii.  2,  v.  6.)  Can 
we  forget  a  more  awful  and  impressive  example  ? 
One  soaring  above  the  reach  of  aU  grovelling  human 
exjoeriences,  but  yet  who  tells  us,  in  His  bitter  Eloi 
cry,  that  even  He  knew  what  it  was  to  be  God- 
deserted  and  forsaken ! 

Are  there  any  whose  eyes  trace  these  pages  who 
have  ever  undergone  such  a  season  ?  or  it  may  be  are 
undergoing  it  novr  ?  I  stop  not  to  inquire  as  to  the 
cause ; — indulged  sin,  omitted  or  carelessly  performed 


32  A  PECULIAR  EXPERIENCE. 

duty,  neglect  of  prayer,  worldly  conformity  *  Are 
you  feelingly  alive,  painfully  conscious  that  your 
love,  like  that  of  many,  has  waxed  cold ; — are  you 
mourning  that  you  have  not  the  nearness  to  the 
Mercy-seat  that  once  you  enjoyed, — not  the  love  of 
your  Bibles,  and  ordinances,  and  sacraments  that 
you  once  had, — that  a  heavy  cloud  mantles  your 
.spiritual  horizon, — God's  countenance,  not  what 
once  it  was,  irradiated  with  a  Father's  smiles, — nor 
heaven  what  once  it  seemed,  a  second  home  ? 

*'  0  thou  afflicted,  tossed  with  temj)est,  not  com- 
forted ! "  do  not  despond.  In  these  very  sighings 
and  moanings  of  your  downcast  spirit,  there  are  ele- 
ments for  hope  and  comfort,  not  for  despair.  They 
are  the  evidences  and  indications  that  the  spark, 
though  feeble,  is  not  quenched — that  the  pulse, 
thouo'h  lano'uid,  still  beats — that  faith,  thouo'h  like  a 
grain  of  mustard-seed,  is  still  germinating.     "  0  thou 


*  "  In  the  time  of  need  He  hides  HimseK  often,  and  seems  to 
have  forgotten  me.  Tears  have  thus  been  my  meat,  because  of 
their  saying  unto  my  soul,  '  Where  is  now  thy  God  ? '  But  1 
am  bound  by  all  the  experienced  freeness  and  riches  of  the  Re- 
deemer's grace  to  say,  that  Vv'hen  He  hides  Himself  from  me,  it 
is  not  because  He  has  forgotten  vie,  but  because  I  have  been  for- 
getting Him," — Hewitson. 


A  PECULIAR  EXPKillENCE.  83 

of  little  faith,  wherefore  dost  thou  doubt  V  It  is 
that  very  shadow  that  has  now  come  athwart  your 
soul,  and  which  you  so  bitterly  mourn,  which  tells  of 
sunshine.  As  it  is  the  shadow  wdiich  enables  us  to 
read  tlie  hours  on  the  dial,  so  is  it  in  the  spiritual  life. 
It  is  because  of  these  shadows  on  the  soul's  dial-face 
that  we  can  infer  the  shining  of  a  belter  Sun.  "  The 
wicked  have  no  bands  in  their  (spiritual)  death/' 
Their  life  has  been  nothing  but  shadow ;  they  can- 
not therefore  mourn  the  loss  of  a  sunshine  they 
never  felt  or  enjoyed.  Well  has  it  been  said, 
"When  the  refreshing  dews  of  grace  seem  to  be 
withheld,  and  we  are  ready  to  say,  '  Our  hope  is  lost, 
God  hath  forgotten  to  be  gracious ' — this  is  that  fur- 
nace in  which  one  that  is  not  a  child  of  God  never 
was  placed.  For  Satan  takes  g&iid  care  not  to  dis- 
quiet his  children.  He  has  no  fire  for  their  souls 
on  this  side  everlasting  burnings  ;  his  fatal  teaching 
ever  is,  Peace,  peace ! "  *  But  what,  desponding  one, 
is,  or  ought  to  be,  thy  resort  ?  Go  !  exile  in  sjoirit — 
go,  like  that  royal  mourner  amid  the  oak-thickets 
of  Gilead  I  Brood  no  more  in  unavailing  sorrow 
and  with  burning  tears.     Thou  mayest,   like  him, 

*  Miss  Plumptre's  Letters. 
C 


84  A  PECULIAE  EXPEiUENCE. 

have  much  to  depress  thy  spirit.  Black  and  crim- 
son sins  may  have  left  their  indelible  stain  on  the 
page  of  memory.  In  acliing  heart-throbs,  thou 
mayest  be  heaving  forth  the  bitter  confession,  '-Mine 
iniquities  have  separated  between  me  and  my  God." 
But  go  like  him !  take  down  thy  silent  harp.  Its 
strings  may  be  corroded  with  rust.  They  may  tell 
the  touching  story  of  a  sad  estrangement.  Go  to 
the  quiet  solitude  of  thy  chamber.  Seek  out  the 
unfrequented  path  of  prayer ; — choked  it  may  be 
with  the  weeds  of  forgetfulnesn  and  sloth.  Cast 
thyself  on  thy  bended  knees ;  and,  as  the  wounded 
deer  bounds  j^ast  thee  (emblem  of  thine  own  bleed- 
ing heart),  wake  the  echoes  of  thy  spirit  with  the 
penitential  cry,  ''As  the  hart  panteth  after  the 
water-hrooks,  so  panteth  my  soul  after  thee,  0 
God!" 


CONTENTS  OF  THE  PSALM. 


C|t  Jart  Jantiiig. 


"  Oh,  wovild  I  were  as  free  to  rise 

As  leaves  on  autumn's  whirlwind  borne. 
The  arrowy  light  of  sunset  skies, 

Or  sound — or  rays — or  star  of  morn. 
Which  meets  in  heaven  at  twilight's  close. 

Or  aught  which  soars  uneheck'd  and  free, 
Through  earth  and  heaven,  that  I  might  lose 

Myself  in  finding  Thee  !  " 

*'  0  mysterious  Jesus,  teach  us  Thy  works  and  Thy  plans. 
Let  our  hearts  pant  after  Thee  as  the  hart  after  the  water-brooks. 
Create  a  thirst  which  nothing  shall  satisfy  but  the  fountain  of 
eternal  love.  See  the  velocity  with  which  the  needle  flees  to  the 
magnet  when  it  gets  vnthin  distance  ;  so  shall  we  hasten  to  o\ir 
Magnet — our  Beloved — as  we  approach  Him." — Lady  Powers- 
court's  Letters. 

"  ?C0  xht  f?art  pantetf)  after  t\)t  toatcr-irooft^,  so  pantctf;  mp 
?oui  after  tlice,  <0  »©oti." — Verse  1. 


I 

THE  HAET  PANTING. 

We  have  pictured,  in  a  preceding  chapter,  the 
uncrowned.  Monarch  of  Israel  seated,  pensive  and 
sad,  amid  ''  the  wiUows  by  the  water-courses  ; "  or 
wandering  forth,  amid  the  deepening  twilight- 
shadows,  with  the  roll  of  Jordan  at  his  side,  per- 
haps, like  his  great  ancestor,  to  "wrestle  with  God 
until  the  breaking  of  the  day." 

We  have  already  adverted  to  the  simple  incident 
which  arrested  his  attention.  A  breathless  tenant 
of  the  forest  bounded  past  him  to  quench  its  thirst 
in  the  neighbouring  river.  That  unconscious  child 
of  nature  furnishes  the  key-note  of .  his  song.  Let 
us  sit  by  the  banks,  as  the  Exile  takes  down  his 
harp,   and  thus  sings — "As  the  hart   panteth 

AFTER  THE  WATER-BROOKS,  SO  PANTETH  MY  SOUL 
AFTER  THEE,  0  GOD." 

God  is  the  only  satisfying  portion  of  the  soul. 


38  THE  HART  PANTING. 

Every  theory  of  human  happiness  is  defective  and 
incomplete  which  falls  short  of  the  aspirations  of 
our  immortal  natures.  Born  with  capacities  for  the 
infinite,  man  naturally  spurns  the  finite.  No  satel- 
lite, with  its  borrowed  light,  will  compensate  for  the 
loss  of  the  sun.  You  may  as  well  expect  the  caged 
wild  beast  to  be  happier  within  the  iron  bars  of  his 
den  than  roaming  lord  of  the  forest,  as  for  the 
human  sj^irit  to  be  content  with  the  present  and 
the  finite  as  a  substitute  for  the  immortal  and 
the  infinite  !  The  water-brooks  alone  could  slake 
the  thirst  of  that  roe  on  the  mountains  of  Gilead. 
You  might  have  offered  it  choicest  pastures.  You 
mio-ht  have  bid  it  roam  the  sunniest  glades  of 
the  forest,  or  repose  under  the  majestic  shadow  of 
the  monarch-oaks  of  Bashan;  it  would  have  spurned 
them  all ;  and,  with  fleet  foot,  have  bounded  down 
the  valley  in  search  of  the  stream. 

So  with  the  soul.?  "I^otdins:  but  the  stream  flow- 
ing  from  the  Everlasting  Hills  will  satisfy  it.  You 
may  tempt  a  man,  as  he  is  hurrying  on  his  immortal 
way,  with  the  world's  pastures, — you  may  hold  out  to 
him  the  golden  sheaves  of  riches, — you  may  detain 
him  amid  the  sumiy  glades  of  pleasure,  or  on  the 


THE  HAltT  PANTING.  39 

hill-tops  of  fame  (and  he  is  but  too  willing  for  a  while 
to  linger) — but  satisfy  him  they  cannot !  When  his 
nobler  nature  acquires  its  rightful  ascendancy  he 
will  spurn  them  all.  Brushing  each  one  in  succes- 
sion away,  as  the  stag  does  the  dewy  drops  of  the 
morning,  he  Avill  say^"  All  are  insufficient  1  I  wish 
them  not.  I  have  been  mocked  by  their  failure. 
I  have  found  that  each  has  a  he  in  its  right  hand ; — 
it  is  a  poor  counterfeit — a  shadowy  figure  of  the  true. 
I  want  the  fountain  of  living  waters — I  want  the 
Infinite  of  Knowledge,  Goodness,  Truth,  Love ! " 
"  In  the  LOED  put  I  my  trust :  why  say  ye  to  my 
soul,  Flee  as  a  bird  to  your  mountain  V  * 

The  fact  is,  it  is  the  very  grandeur  of  the  soul 
which  leads  it  thus  to  pant  after  God.  Small  things 
satisfy  a  small  capacity,  but  what  is  made  receptive 
of  the  vast  and  glorious  can  only  be  satisfied  with 
great  things.  The  mind  of  the  child  is  satisfied  with 
the  toy  or  the  bauble  ;  the  mind  of  the  untutored 
savage  with  bits  of  painted  glass  or  tinsel ;  but  the 
man,  the  sage,  the  j)hLlosopher,  desiderate  higher 
possessions,  purer  knowledge,  nobler  themes  of 
thought  and  objects  of  ambition.     Some  insects  are 

*  Psalm  xi.  1. 


40  THE  HAET  PANTING. 

born  for  an  hour,  and  are  satisfied  with  it.  A  sum- 
mer's afternoon  is  the  duration  of  existence  allotted 
to  myriads  of  tiny  ephemera.  In  their  case,  j^outh 
and  age  are  crowded  into  a  few  passing  minutes. 
The  descending  sun  w^itnesses  their  birth  and  death  ; 
— the  lifetime  of  other  animals  would  be  to  them  an 
immortality.  The  soul,  being  infinite  and  unlimited 
in  its  capacities,  has  correspondingly  high  aspirations. 
Vain  would  be  the  attempt  to  fill  up  a  yawning  gulf 
by  throwing  into  it  a  few  grains  of  sand.  But  not 
more  vain  or  ineff'ectual  than  try  to  answer  the  deep 
yearnings  of  the  human  spirit  by  the  seen  and  the 
temporal. 

Yes  !  on  all  the  world's  fountains,  drink  at  them  as 
you  may,  "  thirst  again  "  is  written.  Of  the  world's 
mountains,  climb  them  as  you  may,  you  will  never 
say,  "  I  have  reached  the  coveted  summit.  It  is 
enougli."  Men  go  sighing  on,  drinking  their  rivers 
of  pleasure  and  climbing  their  mountains  of  vanity. 
They  feel  all  the  while  some  undefined,  inarticulate, 
nameless  longing  after  a  satisfying  good  ;  but  it  is 
a  miserable  travestie  to  say  that  it  has  been  found, 
or  can  be  found,  in  anything  here.  "  ^Yho  vAll  shew 
us  any  good  I '''  will  still  be  the  cry  of  the  groping 


THE  HART  PANTIXG.  41 

seeker  till  lie  has  learned  to  say,  "  Lord,  lift  Thou 
upon  me  the  light  of  thy  countenance!' 

We  know  how  hard  and  difficult  it  is  to  convince 
of  these  sublime  verities.  The  soul,  even  in  its 
hours  of  trouble  and  deep  conviction,  is  like  a  cast- 
away from  shipwreck,  who  sees  from  his  raft-planks 
something  cresting  the  waves.  He  imagines  it  an 
island!  As  he  nears  it,  he  fancies  he  sees  purple 
flowers  drooping  over  the  solid  rock,  and  the  sea- 
birds  nestling  in  the  crevices.  But  it  is  only  an 
aggregate  of  withered  leaves  and  rotten  branches, 
which  the  receding  tide  has  tossed  together,  the 
wayward  freak  of  old  ocean. 

"  All  are  wanderers  gone  astray 
Each  in  Lis  own  delusions ;  they  are  lost 
In  chase  of  fancied  happiness,  still  woo'd 
And  never  won.     Dream  after  dream  ensues; 
And  still  they  dream  that  they  shall  still  succeed. 
And  still  are  disappointed.     Rings  the  world 
With  the  vain  stir.     I  sum  up  half  mankind, 
And  add  two-thirds  of  the  remaining  half, 
And  find  the  total  of  their  hopes  and  fears 
Dreams,  empty  dreams."* — Cowper's  Task. 


*  "  I  was  at  the  very  zenith  of  earthly  happiness.  On  re- 
tumiug  from  the  ball,  I  took  a  hasty  review  of  the  evening  I  had 
passed  as  I  lay  sleepless  upon  my  pillow.  The  glitter — the  music 
— the  dance — the  excitement — the  attention — the  pleasure — all 
passed  before  me.     But,  oh  !  I  felt  a  want  I  could  not  describa 


42  THE  HAET  PANTING. 

Let  him  who  would  solve  this  great  problem  of 
Happiness  go  to  that  parable  of  nature — the  hunted 
Stag  seeking  the  water-brooks,  the  thirsty  soul  seek- 
ing its  God.  God  is  the  home  of  the  soul,  and 
he  is  away  from  home  who  pitches  his  tent  and 
weaves  his  heart  affections  around  anything  short 
of  Him.  Who  has  not  heard  of  "  home-sick- 
ness " — the  desolate  feelings  of  the  lonely  stranger 
in  a  strange  land?  Let  affection,  and  friendshij), 
and  pity  do  what  they  may  to  alleviate  the  pang  of 
distance  and  separation,  though  beaming  faces  be 
around,  and  hands  of  love  and  sympathy  be  extended, 
still  will  the  heart  (despite  of  all)  be  roaming  the  old 
hallowed  haunts,  climbing  in  thought  the  hills  of 
childhood,  gazing  on  the  old  village  church  with  its 
festoons  of  ivy,  seated  under  the  aged  elm,  or  listen- 
ing to  the  music  of  the  passing  brook  and  the  music 
of  voices  sweeter  and  lovelier  than  all !  The  soul 
is  that  strano-er,  dwelling  in  the  tents  of  Kedar, 
and  panting  for  Heaven  and  God.  Its  language 
is,  "I  am  not  at  home,  I  am  a  stranger  here." 
Manifold,  too,  are  the  voices  in  this  the  land  of  its 

I  sighed,  and,  throwing  my  arm  over  my  head,  whispered  to  my- 
self these  expressive  words,  'Is  this  all  ? ' " — Mrs  Winslow,  Life. 


THE  HART  PANTING.  43 

exile,  whispering,  "Arise  ye  and  depart,  for  this  is 
NOT  your  rest  !  "  * 

You  may  have  seen  in  our  mountain  glens,  in  the 
solemn  twilight,  birds  winging  their  way  to  their 
nests.  There  may  be  lovely  bowers,  gardens  of 
fragrance  and  beauty,  close  by, — groves  inviting  to 
sweetest  melody,  Nature's  consecrated  haunts  of  song. 
But  they  tempt  them  not.  Their  nests — their  homes 
— are  in  yonder  distant  rock,  and  thither  they  speed 
their  way  !  So  with  the  soul.  The  painted  glories 
of  this  world  will  not  satisfy  it.  There  is  no  rest  in 
these  for  its  weary  wing  and  wailing  cry.  It  goes 
singing  up  and  home  to  God.  It  has  its  nest  in  the 
crevices  of  the  Eock  of  Ages.  AAHien  detained  in 
the  nether  valley,  often  is  the  warbling  note  heard, 
"  Oh  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove !  for  then  would  I 
flee  awa}^,  and  be  at  rest."  And  when  the  flight  has 
been  made  from  the  finite  to  the  infinite — from  the 
lower  valleys  of  sense  to  the  hills  of  faith — from  the 
creature  to  the  Creator — from  man  to  God, — as  we 
see  it  folding  its  buoyant  pinion  and  sinking  into 
the  eternal  clefts,  we  listen  to  the  song,  "  Return 
unto  thy  rest,  0  my  soul .-'" 

*  Siicah  ii.  10. 


44  THE  HART  PANTING. 

Reader  !  may  this  flight  be  yours.  "  Seek  ye  the 
Lord  while  He  may  be  found ! "  The  creature  may 
change,  He  cannot.  The  creature  must  die,  He  is 
eternal.  "  0  God,  thou  art  my  God;  early  will  I 
seek  Thee  :  my  soid  thirsteth  for  Thee,  my  flesh 
longetlifor  Thee  in  a  dry  and  thirsty  land,  luhere  no 
water  is.  .  .  .  Because  Thy  loving -kindness  is  better 
than  life,  my  lips  shaU  praise  Thee."  (Ps.  Ixiii.) 


IL 

m^t  fart  mm^tH. 


**  I  was  a  stricken  deer,  that  left  the  herd 
Long  since.     With  many  an  arrow  deep  infix'd 
My  panting  side  was  charged,  when  I  withdrew, 
To  seek  a  tranquil  death  in  distant  shades. 
There  was  I  found  by  One  who  had  Himself 
Been  hurt  by  th'  archers.     In  His  side  He  bore. 
And  in  His  hands  and  feet,  the  cruel  scars. 
With  gentle  force  soliciting  the  darts. 
He  di-ew  them  forth,  and  heal'd,  and  bade  me  live  !  " 

— Ccwper. 

"  It  was  in  this  extremity  it  occurred  to  her  that,  in  the  defi- 
ciency of  all  hope  in  creatures,  there  might  be  hojoe  and  help  in 
God.  Borne  down  by  the  burdens  of  a  hidden  providence  (a 
providence  which  she  did  not  then  love,  because  she  did  not  then 
understand  it)  she  pelded  to  the  pressure  that  was  upon  her, 
and  began  to  look  to  Him  in  whom  alone  there  is  true  assist- 
ance."— Madame  Guyons  Life,  p.  38. 

"3Cs  t\)i  {iflit  pantctb  after  tijc  ujatcr-lioohs,  jjo  paiuctlj  mg 
jJOuTt  after  tf)tc,  *0  43oti." — Verse  1. 


11. 

THE  HART  WOUNDED. 

Aee  we  not  warranted  to  infer  that  it  was  tlie 
wounded  stag  whicli  David  now  saw,  or  pictured  he 
saw,  seeking  the  brooks  ? — the  hart  hit  by  the  archers, 
with  blood-drops  standing  on  its  flanks,  and  its  eye 
glazed  with  faintness,  exhaustion,  and  death  ?  Eut 
for  these  wounds  it  would  never  have  come  to  the 
Valley.  It  would  have  been  nestling  still  up  in  its 
native  heath — the  thick  furze  and  cover  of  the  moun- 
tain heights  of  Gilead.  But  the  shaft  of  the  archer 
had  sped  with  unerring  aim  ;  and,  with  distended 
nostril  and  quivering  limb,  it  hastens  to  allay  the 
rage  of  its  death-thirst. 

Picture  of  David,  ay,  and  of  many  who  have 
been  driven  to  drink  of  that  "river,  the  streams 
whereof  make  glad  the  city  of  God/'  They  are 
wounded  spirits  ;  the  arrow  festering  in  their  souls, 
and  drawing  their  life-blood.     Faint,  trembling,  for- 


48  THE  HART  WOUNDED. 

lorn,  weary,  they  have  left  the  world's  high  ground 
— the  heights  of  vanity,  and  indiflference,  and  self- 
righteousness,  and  sin — and  have  sought  the  lowly 
Valley  of  humiliation. 

What  are  some  of  these  arrows?  There  are 
arrows  from  the  quiver  of  MAN,  and  arrows  from  the 
quiver  of  God. 

The  arroivs  of  man  are  often  the  cruellest  of  all. 
"  Lo,  the  iviched  bend  their  how,  they  make  7'eady 
their  arroiv  upon  the  string,  that  they  may  j^rivily 
shoot  at  the  upright  in  heart"  (Ps.  xi.  2.)  Envy 
is  an  archer.  His  shaft  is  dipped  in  gall  and  worm- 
wood. Jealousy  is  a  bowman,  whose  barbed  wea- 
pons cannot  stand  the  prosperity  of  a  rival.  Ee- 
venge  has  his  quiver  filled  with  keen  points  of 
steel,  that  burn  to  retaliate  the  real  or  imagined  in- 
jury. Malice  is  an  archer  that  seeks  his  prey  in 
ambush.  He  lurks  bebind  the  rock.  He  inflicts  his 
wanton  mischief — irreparable  injury — on  the  absent 
or  innocent.  Contempt  is  a  bowman  of  soaring 
aim.  He  looks  down  with  haughty,  supercilious 
scorn  on  others.  The  teeth  of  such  "  are  spears  and 
arrows,  and  their  tongue  a  sharp  sword."  (Ps.  Ivii. 
4.)     Deceit. — He  is,  in  these  our  days,  a  huntsman 


THE  HART  WOUNDED.  49 

of  repute— a  modern  Nimrod— with  gilded  arrows 
in  his  quiver,  and  a  bugle,  boasting  great  things, 
slung  at  his  girdle.  He  makes  his  target  the  unsus- 
pecting; decoys  them,  with  siren  look,  within  his 
toils,  and  leaves  them,  wounded  and  helpless,  on  "  the 
mountains  of  prey!"  ''Deliver  my  soul,  0  Lord, 
from  lying  lips,  and  from  a  deceitful  tongue.  What 
shall  he  given  unto  thee  ?  or  what  shall  he  done  unto 
thee,  thou  false  tongue  ?  8harp  arroivs  of  the  mighty, 
zuith  coals  of  juniper''  (Ps.  cxx.  2-4) 

But  there  are  arrows  also  from  the  quiver  of 
God.  "  The  arrows  of  tJie  Almighty;'  says  Job, 
"  are  within  me,  the  poison  whereof  drinketh  up  my 
spirit:'  (Job  vi.  4.)  ''He  hath  hent  His  how,"  says 
Jeremiah,  "and  set  me  as  a  mark  for  the  arrow. 
He  hatli  caused  the  arrows  of  His  quiver  to  enter 
into  my  reins."  (Lam.  iii.  12,  13.)  And  who  willnot 
breathe  the  prayer  of  the  Gilead  Exile  at  another 
time?— '^Xe^  me  fall  into  the  hands  of  God,  for 
great  are  His  mercies  /  "  "  Faithful  are  the  wounds 
of  THIS  friend."  (2  Sam.  xxiv.  14;  Prov.  xxvii.  6.) 
We  need  not  stop  to  enumerate  particularly  these 
arrows.  There  is  the  blanched  arrow  of  sickness, 
the  rusted  arrow  of  poverty,  the  lacerating  arrow  of 

D 


50  THE  HAET  WOUNDED. 

hereavement,  stained  and  saturated  with  tears,  and 
feathered  from  our  own  bosoms  I  There  is  the 
arrow,  too,  (though  of  a  different  kind,)  of  God\s 
own  blessed  ^Yord,  "quick  and  powerful."  "  Thine 
arrows  are  sharp  in  the  heart  of  the  King's 
enemies."  (Ps.  xlv.  5.) 

Yet,  blessed  be  God,  these  are  often  arrows  which 
wound  only  to  heal  ;  or  rather,  which,  from  the 
wounds  they  create,  send  the  bleeding,  panting, 
thirsting  soul  to  seek  the  waters  of  comfort  in  God 
himself.  Suffering  one  !  be  thankful  for  thy  wounds. 
But  for  these  shafts  thou  mightest  have  been,  at  this 
moment,  sleeping  on  the  mountain  heights  of  self- 
righteousness,  or  worldliness,  or  sin,  with  no  thought 
of  thy  soul ;  the  streams  of  salvation  disowned ;  for- 
sakino^,  and  continuinoj  to  forsake,  the  "  Fountain  of 
Living  Waters." 

Let  me  ask,  Has  this  been  the  result  of  thy 
woundings  ?  Have  they  led  thee  from  the  "  broken 
(leaky)  cistern"  to  say,  "  All  my  springs  are  in 
Thee  ? "  Eemember  affliction,  worldly  calamity, 
bereavement,  have  a  twofold  effect.  It  is  a  solemn 
alternative !  They  may  drive  thee  nearer,  they  may 
drive  thee  farther  from,  thy  God.     They  may  drive 


THE  HAET  WOUNDED.  51 

thee  down  to  the  gushing  stream,  or  farther  up  the 
cold,  freezing  mountain-side.  The  wounded  hart  of 
this  Psalm,  on  receiving  the  sting  of  the  arrow, 
might  have  plunged  only  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
toils  of  the  huntsmen,  or  the  solitudes  of  the  forest. 
It  might  have  gone  with  its  pining  eye,  and  broken 
heart,  and  bleeding  wound,  to  bury  itself  amid  the 
withered  leaves. 

How  many  there  are  whose  afflictions  seem  to 
lead  to  this  sad  consequence ;  who,  when  mercies 
and  blessings  are  removed,  abandon  themselves  to 
sullen  and  morbid  fretfulness ;  who,  instead  of 
bowiug  submissive  to  the  hand  that  wounds 
and  is  able  to  heal,  seem  to  feel  as  if  they  were 
denuded  of  their  rights.  Their  language  is  the 
bitter  reproach  of  Jonah  — "  /  do  well  to  he 
angry,  even  unto  deaths  Muffling  themselves  in 
hardened  unbelief,  their  wretched  solace  is  that  of 
despair — "It  is  better  for  me  to  die  than  to  live'' 

" Blessed  is  the  man  that  endueeth  temptation'' 
not  who  rushes  away  to  pine,  and  bleed,  and  die  ; — or 
to  feed  still  on  husks  and  the  garbage  of  the  wilder- 
ness, but  who  makes  the  nobler  resolve,  ''I  will  arise 
and  go  to  my  Father!'     Blessed  is  the  man  whose 


52  THE  HART  WOUNDED. 

cry,  like  tliat  of  the  child,  is  answered  by  his 
Heavenly  Parent  bending  over  the  cradle  of  his 
sorrow ; — who  feels,  as  the  Psalmist  did,  that  his 
gracious  Father  and  God  is  never  so  near  him  as  in  a 
time  of  trial.  "  When  my  spirit  was  overwhelmed, 
THEN  Thou  knewest  my  path."  The  bird  of 
the  desert  is  said  to  bury  its  head  in  the  sand 
on  the  api3roach  of  its  foes,  and  to  abandon  it- 
self to  destruction ;  but  blessed  is  the  man  who 
rather  is  like  the  bird  of  the  grove,  the  first  twigs  of 
whose  nest  have  been  ruthlessly  pulled  to  pieces  by 
the  hand  of  violence.  Hovering  for  a  while  over 
her  j^illaged  home,  she  fills  the  wood  with  her  plain- 
tive lament,  then  soars  away  from  the  haunt  of  the 
destroyer  to  begin  a  fresh  one,  in  a  place  of  safety, 
on  the  top  branch  of  some  cedar  of  God  ! 

Such  was  the  case  with  David  on  the  occasion  of 
this  Psalm.  He  had  read  to  him  the  most  touching 
homily  the  world  could  read  on  the  precarious 
tenure  of  earthly  blessings.  His  sceptre,  his  crown, 
his  family,  were  like  the  bubbles  on  that  foaming 
stream  on  which  he  gazed,  dancing  their  little 
moment  on  its  surface,  then  gone,  and  gone  for  ever. 
Is  he  to  abandon  himself  to  an  ignoble  despair  ?    Is 


THE  HART  WOUKDED,  53 

he  to  conclude  that  the  Lord  has  made  him  a  target 
on  which  to  exhaust  His  quiver — that  He  has  "  for- 
gotten to  be  gracious?'"  Is  he  to  join  marauding 
chiefs  beyond  the  Jordan,  savage  freebooters — become 
a  mountain  adventurer  on  these  Gentile  borders,  and 
forget  Zion  and  Zion's  God  ?  No  1  the  earthly  crown 
may  fade,  but  the  homeless,  uncrowned,  unsceptred 
monarch  has  a  better  home  and  a  better  King  above  ; 
invisible  walls  and  battlements,  better  than  all 
the  trenches  and  moats  of  an  earthly  fortress,  en- 
compass the  wanderer.  With  his  eye  on  these, 
thus  he  weaves  his  warrior  song — "/  will  say  of 
the  Lord,  He  is  my  rock,  and  my  fortress,  and  my 
deliverer ;  my  God,  my  strength,  in  ivhom  I  tuill 
trust ;  my  hucJder,  and  the  horn  of  my  salvation, 
and  my  high  tower."  (Ps.  xviii.  2.) 

Reader !  let  me  ask  you,  in  closing  this  chapter, 
are  you  panting  for  God  ? 

This  is  not  the  way — this  is  not  the  history  of 
most  They  are  panting,  but  not  for  God !  They 
are  panting  up  the  hill,  like  Sisyphus,  with  tlieir 
huge  stone.  Ambition  is  panting  up  the  hill — no 
time  to  take  a  breath.  Pleasure  is  panting  up 
the  hill — pursuing  her  butterfly  existence — a  phan- 


54}  THE  HART  WOUNDED. 

torn  chase — rushino-  from  flower  to  flower,  extract- 
ing  all  the  luscious  sweets  she  can.  Fame  is 
l^anting  up  the  hill,  blowing  her  trumpet  before 
her,  eager  to  erect  her  own  montiment  on  the 
coveted  apex.  Mammon  is  pushing  np  the  hill 
with  his  panting  team,  to  erect  the  temple  of  riches. 
Multitudes  of  hapless  wayfarers  in  the  same  reckless 
scramble  have  tumbled  into  crevices,  and  are  crying 
for  help.  Mammon's  wheels  are  locked, — his  trea- 
sure-chests have  fallen  into  the  mire; — and  yet,  on 
he  goes,  driving  his  jaded  steeds  over  the  poor,  and 
weak,  and  helpless — ^ay,  those  that  assisted  him 
to  load  before  he  started  at  the  mountain  base.  He 
must  gain  the  top  at  all  hazards  as  best  he  may; 
and  he  will  be  crowned  a  hero,  too,  and  lauded  for 
his  feat ! 

Ah!  strange  that  men  should  still  be  pursuing 
that  phantom-chase.  Or,  rather,  strange  that  they 
should  live  so  immeasurably  beneath  the  grandeur 
of  their  own  destiny  ;  rasping  the  shallows  when 
they  should  be  out  in  the  deep  sea;  furling  and 
warping  the  sails  of  immortality,  instead  of  having 
every  available  yard  of  canvas  spread  to  the  breeze 
of  heaven. 


THE  HART  WOUNDED.  65 

These  objects  of  earthly,  perishable  pursuit,  may 
do  when  the  world  is  bright,  the  heart  un wounded, 
the  eye  undimmed.  These  may  do  when  the  sun 
shines  unclouded  in  our  firmament,  when  our  fields 
are  waving,  when  fortune  is  weaving  her  golden 
web,  and  the  bark  of  existence  with  its  white  sails 
is  holding  its  way  through  summer  seas.  These 
may  do  when  the  home  circle  is  unbroken  ;  when  we 
miss  no  loved  face,  when  we  mark  no  silent  voice, 
no  vacant  chair.  But  when  the  muffled  drum  takes 
the  place  of  life's  joyous  music  ; — when  our  skies  are 
robed  in  sackcloth,  when  Nature  takes  on  its  line 
of  ashen  paleness ;  when  every  flower,  seared  and 
frost-bitten,  seems  to  droop  its  head  in  sadness  and 
sorrow,  and  hide  its  tears  amid  withered  leaves  and 
blighted  stems,  exuding  only  the  fragrance  of  decay ! 
— what  then .?  The  prophet's  voice  takes  up  the  lesson 
— "  The  voice  said,  Cry  ;  and  he  said,  What  shall  I 
cry  ?  All  flesh  is  grass,  and  all  the  glory  of  man 
as  the  flower  of  the  grass  !  "  Poor  trifler  that  thou 
art !  to  be  so  long  mocked  and  deceived  by  a  dead 
and  dying  world  ;  desolate,  friendless,  hopeless,  por- 
tionless ;  a  vessel  driven  from  its  moorings,  out  un- 
piloted  on  a  tempestuous  sea !    But  there  is  a  haven 


56  THE  HART  WOUNDED. 

for  t^e  tempest-tossed.  The  Saidour  thou  hast  long 
despised  and  rejected,  is  a  provided  harbour  for 
such  as  tliee.  "  A  man  shall  he  an  hiding-place  from 
the  luind,  a  covert  from  the  tempest,  as  rivers  of 
water  in  a  dry  place,  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock 
in  a  weary  land."  (Isaiah  xxxii.  2.) 

Art  thou  panting  after  the  streams  of  salvation  ? 
The  Shepherd  who  feeds  His  flock  by  these  "  still 
waters"  thus  addresses   thee — Let  hbi   that   is 

ATHIEST,  COME. 

Athiest  !  who  is  not  athirst  ?  It  is  the  attribute 
of  universal  humanity !  Who  does  not  feel  that 
this  world  is  presenting  us  with  muddy  streams  and 
broken,  leaky  cisterns  ?  Who  does  not  feel,  in  their 
moments  of  deep  and  calm  reflection,  when  we  are 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  great  enigma  of  exist- 
ence, that  the  world  is  serving  up  faded  flowers 
instead  of  those  redolent  with  imperishable  fragrance, 
and  glowuig  wdth  unfading  bloom  ?  Friendless 

one! — thou  who  art  standing  alone  like  a  solitary 
tree  in  the  forest  whom  the  woodman's  axe  has 
spared — thy  compeers  cut  down  at  thy  side — 
Come  !  Child  of  calamity  !  —  the  chill  hand  of 

penury  laid  on  thine  earthly  comforts — the  widow's 


THE  nART  WOUNDED.  57 

cruise  fast  failing,  her  staff  of  bread  diminishing — 
Come  !  Child  of  bereavement  ! — the  pillars  in  thy 
heart-shrine  crumbling  to  decay,  thy  head  bowed 
like  a  bulrush — thou  who  knowest  that  fortune 
may  again  replace  and  replenish  her  dismantled 
walls,  but  that  nothing  can  reanimate  thy  still 
marble,  or  refill  the  vacant  niche  in  thy  heart  of 
hearts — Come  !  Prodigal  ! — wanderer  from  God, 
exile  from  peace,  roaming  the  forest-haunts  of  sin, 
plunging  deeper  and  deeper  into  their  midnight  of 
ruin  and  desj^air — has  an  arrow,  either  from  the 
quiver  of  man,  or  of  God,  wounded  thy  heart  ?  Art 
thou,  in  thy  agony,  seeking  rest  and  finding  none, — 
having  the  gnawing  feeling  of  dissatisfaction  with 
all  created  things,  and  an  undefined  longing  for  a 
solace  they  cannot  give  1  Yes  !  for  thee,  too,  for 
thy  gaping,  bleeding  wound  there  is  "balm  in 
Gilead,  and  a  Physician  there."  I  repeat,  Jesus 
this  day  stands  by  the  glorious  streams  of  His  own 
purchased  salvation,  and  cries,  saying — ''If  any 
man  thiest,  let  him  come  unto  me  and  drink  !" 

"Yea,  Lord!"  be  it  yours  to  reply — "Lord,  I 
come  I  thirsty,  faint,  forlorn,  wounded,  weary !  I 
come,  'just  as  I  am,  without  one  plea.'     Thou  art  all 


58  THE  HART  WOUNDED. 

I  need,  all  I  require,  in  sickness  and  health,  in  joy 
and  in  sorrow,  in  life  and  in  death,  in  time  and 
through  eternity.  The  snow-clad  hills  may  cease  to 
feed  the  brooks ; — that  sun  may  cease  to  shine,  or 
nature  grow  weary  of  his  loving  beams ; — that 
moon  may  cease  on  her  silver  lyre,  night  by  night, 
to  discourse  to  the  listening  earth ; — the  birds 
may  become  mute  at  the  voice  of  the  morning ; — 
flowers  may  droop,  instead  of  ringing  their  thousand 
bells  at  the  jubilant  step  of  summer ; — the  gasping 
pilgrim  may  rush  from  the  stream,  and  prefer  the 
fiery  furnace-glow  of  the  desert  sands, — but  "this 
God  shall  be  my  "God  for  ever  and  ever ; "  and, 
even  when  death  is  sealing  my  eyes,  and  the  rush 
of  darkness  is  coming  over  my  spirit,  even  then  will 
I  take  up  the  old  exile  strain — the  great  sigh  of 
weary  humanity — and  blend  its  notes  with  the  song 
of  heaven — 'As   the  hart   panteth  after  the 

WATER-BROOKS,  SO  PANTETH  MY  SOUL  AFTER  THEE, 
OGOD.'" 


in. 


"  Hear  me  !     To  Thee  my  soul  in  suppliance  turneth; 
Like  the  lorn  pilgrim  on  the  sands  accursed. 
For  life's  sweet  waters,  God  !  my  spirit  yearneth : 
Give  me  to  drink.     I  perish  here  of  thirst." 

"  Oh,  it  is  His  own  self  I  pant  after.  Fellowship — living, 
constant,  intimate  fellowship  with  Him,  is  the  cry  He  often  hears 
from  the  desolate  void  of  my  unloving  heart.  How  do  I  loathe 
the  sin  which  makes  the  atmosphere  so  misty — the  clouds  so 
thick  and  dark  !  " — Life  of  Adelaide  Newton,  p.  246. 

"  ,0ln  sout  rfiirstetlb  for  43olJ,  for  tftc  \\)a\nQ  «6oD :  xol)tn  stail 
31  come  and  appeaj:  htfaj^t  ^otiV— Verse  2. 


III. 

THE  LIVING  GOD. 

In  the  two  former  chapters,  we  listened  to  the  first 
sigh  of  the  exile — the  first  strain  of  his  plaintive 
song.  It  was  the  groping  and  yearning  of  his  soul 
after  God,  as  the  alone  object  of  happiness. 

You  may  have  watched  the  efforts  of  the  plant, 
tossed  amid  rack  and  weed  in  some  dark  cellar,  to 
climb  to  the  light.  Like  the  captive  in  the  dungeon 
lonoino-  to  cool  his  fevered  brow  in  the  air  of  heaven, 
its  sickly  leaves  seem  to  struggle  and  gasp  for 
breath.  They  grope,  with  their  blanched  colours, 
towards  any  chink  or  crevice  or  grated  window, 
through  which  a  broken  beam  is  admitted.  Or 
garden  flowers  choked  amid  rank  luxuriance,  or 
under  the  shade  of  tree  or  wall,  how  ambitious  to 
assert  their  freedom,  and  pay  homage  to  the  parent 
sun,  lifting  their  pendant  leaves  or  petals  as  a 
target  for  his  golden  arrows ! 


62  THE  LIVING  GOD. 

The  soul,  away  from  the  great  Sun  of  its  being, 
frets  and  pines  and  mourns !  Every  affection 
droojDS  in  languor  aud  sadness  when  that  light  is 
away.  Its  abortive  efforts  to  obtain  happiness  in 
other  and  meaner  joys,  and  its  dissatisfaction  with 
them,  is  itself  a  testimony  to  the  strength  and 
loftiness  of  its  aspiration — a  manifesto  of  its  real 
grandeur  !  The  human  affections  must  be  fastened 
on  something !  They  are  like  the  clinging  ivy 
which  creej)S  along  the  ground,  and  grasps  stones, 
rocks,  weeds,  and  unsightly  ruins,  if  it  can  find  no- 
thing else  on  which  to  fix  its  tendrils ;  but  when  it 
reaches  the  root  of  the  tree,  or  base  of  the  castle 
wall,  it  spurns  its  grovelling  existence,  and  climbs  its 
upward  way  till  it  hangs  in  graceful  festoons  from 
the  topmost  branch  or  turret. 

We  are  to  contemplate,  now,  a  second  breathing 
of  this  exiled  supplicant — a  new  element  in  his 
God-ward  aspiration. 

''My  soul  thirsteth  for  God,  foe  the  living 
God  :  tuhen  shall  I  come  and  apj^ear  before  God  ?  " 

This  is  no  mere  repetition  of  the  former  verse.  It 
invests  the  believer's  relationship  to  the  ol^ject  of  his 
faith  and  hope  with  a  new  and  more  solemn  interest. 


THE  LIVING  GOD.  63 

Eor  David's  present  condition  and  experience  in 
the  land  of  his  exile — the  feeling  of  utter  isolation 
throbbing  through  the  pulses  of  his  soul, — there  were 
required  some  extraordinary  and  peculiar  sources  of 
comfort.  The  old  conventional  dogmas  of  theology, 
at  such  seasons,  are  insufficient.  AVho  has  not  felt, 
in  some  great  crisis  of  their  spiritual  being,  similar 
to  his,  wlien  all  the  hopes  and  joys  of  existence  rock 
and  tremble  to  their  foundations  ;  when,  by  some 
sudden  reverse  of  fortune,  the  pride  of  life  becomes 
a  shattered  ruin;  or,  by  some  appalling  bereave- 
ment, the  hope  and  solace  of  the  future  is  blighted 
and  withered  hke  grass ; — who  has  not  been  con- 
scious of  a  longing  desire  to  know  more  of  this 
infinite  God,  who  holds  the  balances  of  Life  and 
Death  in  His  hands,  and  who  has  come  forth  from 
the  inscrutable  recesses  of  His  own  mysterious  being, 
and  touched  us  to  the  quick  ?  What  of  His  character. 
His  attributes,  His  ways  !  There  is  a  feeling,  such 
as  we  never  had  before,  to  draw  aside  the  veil  which 
screens  the  Invisible.  It  may  be  faith  in  its  feeblest 
form,  awaking  as  from  a  dream ;  lisping  the  very 
alphabet  of  Divine  truth,  and  asking,  in  broken  and 
stammering  accents,  "  Does  God  really  live  I — Is  it, 


64  THE  LIVING  GOD. 

after  all,  Deity,  or  is  it  Chance,  that  is  ruling  the 
world  ?  Is  this  great  Being  near,  or  is  He  distant  ? 
Does  He  take  cognizance  of  all  events  in  this  world ; 
or  are  minute,  trivial  occurrences,  contingent  on  the 
accidents  of  nature  or  the  caprice  of  man?  Is 
He  THE  LIVING  One  ? "  God,  a  distant  abstraction 
shrouded  in  the  awful  mystery  of  His  own  attributes, 
will  not  do  ; — we  must  realise  His  presence  ;  our  cry, 
at  such  a  time,  is  that  of  the  old  patriarch  at  the 
brook  Jabbok,  or  of  his  descendant  at  the  brooks  of 
Gilead — "  Tell  me  thy  name/'  *  Is  it  merely  love, 
or  is  it  the  loving  One?  Is  it  omnipotence,  or 
is  it  the  almighty  One?  Is  it  some  mysterious, 
impalpable  principle,  some  property  of  matter  or 
attribute  of  mind — or  is  it  2i  personal  Jehovah,  one 
capable  of  loving  and  of  being  loved?  Have  the 
lips  of  incarnate  truth  and  wisdom  deceived  us  by  a 
mere  figure  of  speech,  when,  in  the  great  Liturgy  of 
the  Church  universal,  in  the  prayer  which  is  em- 
phatically "His  own,"  He  hath  taught  us,  in  its 
opening  words,  to  say,  "  Our  Father  which  art  in 
heaven,  hallowed  be  thy  NAME !  " 

How  earnestly  do  the  saints  in  former  times,  and 

*  Gen.  xxxii.  28. 


THE  LIVING  GOD.  65 

especially  in  their  seasons  of  trial,  cleave  to  the 
thought  of  this  j^^rsonal  presence ;  in  other  words, 
a  thirst  for  "  the  living  God  I " 

What  was  the  solace  of  the  patriarch  Job,  a^ 
he  was  stretched  on  his  bed  of  sackcloth  and 
ashes,  when  otlier  friends  had  turned  against  him 
in  bitter  derision,  and  were  loading  him  with 
their  reproaches  ?  It  was  the  reahsation  of  a  living 
defender  who  would  vindicate  his  integrity, — "T 
know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth."  (Job  xix.  25.) 

God  appeared  to  Moses  in  a  burning  bush.  The 
symbol  taught  him  encouraging  truths  ; — that  the 
Hebrew  race,  after  all  their  experience  of  fiery  trial, 
would  come  forth  unscathed  and  unconsumed. 
But  the  shepherd-leader  desired  more  than  this : 
he  craved  the  assurance  of  a  living  God — an 
ever-present  guardian,  a  i:>illar  to  guide  by  day, 
and  a  column  of  defence  by  night.  It  was  the  truth 
that  was  borne  to  his  ear  from  the  desert's  fiery 
oracle.  There  could  be  no  grander  watchword  for 
himself,  or  for  the  enslaved  people, — "  God  said 
unto  Moses,  I  am  that  I  am  ! "  No  comment  is 
subjoined ; — nothing  to  diminish  the  glory  of  that 
majestic  utterance.      The  Almighty   Speaker  does 


66  THE  LIVI2s^G  GOD. 

not  qualify  it  by  adding,  "I  am  light,  power, 
wisdom,  glory;"  but  He  simply  declares  His  being 
and  existence — He  unfolds  Himself  as  "  the  living 
God  !  "     It  is  enough  ! 

Elijah  is  in  his  cave  at  Horeb.  All  nature  is 
convulsed  around  him.  The  rocks  are  rent  with 
an  earthquake.  The  sky  is  lurid  with  lightnings. 
Fragments  of  these  awful  precijDices  are  torn  and 
dislocated  by  the  fury  of  the  tempest,  and  go  thun- 
dering down  the  Valley.  Nature  testifies  to  the 
presence,  and  majesty,  and  power  of  her  God  :  but 
He  is  not  in  any  of  these  1  "  The  Lord  is  not  there ! " 
The  Prophet  waits  for  a  further  disclosure.  He  is 
not  satisfied  with  seeing  the  skirts  of  God's  gar- 
ment. He  must  see  the  hand,  and  hear  (though  it 
be  in  gentle  whispers)  the  voice  of  Him  who  sits 
behind  the  elements  He  has  awoke  from  their  sleep. 
Hence  this  formed  the  closing  scene  in  that  wild 
drama  of  the  desert.  "After  the  fire  there  came  a 
still  small  voice."  The  Lord  is  there  !  He  is  pro- 
claiming Himself  the  prophet's  God  !  with  him  in 
the  depths  of  that  howling  wilderness,  as  He  had 
been  with  him  on  the  heights  of  Carmel.  ''And  it 
was  so,  ivhen  Elijah  heard  it,  that  he  wrapped  his 


THE  LIVING  GOD.  67 

face  in  his  mantle,  and  tvent  out,  and  stood  in  the 
entering  in  of  the  cave."  (1  Kings  xix.  12,  13.) 

Shall  wt  go  for  illustration  of  the  same  truth  to 
New  Testaiiient  and  gospel  times  ? 

The  disciples  are  tossed  with  storm  in  the  Sea  of 
Tiberias.  The  voice  of  a  living  Saviour  proclaims 
His  name.  "  It  is  I  (lit.  I  am)  ;  he  not  afraid  I " 
The  assurance,  in  that  night  of  gloom  and  tempest, 
lulls  their  trembling  spirits  to  rest. 

John,  in  Patmos,  beheld,  in  a  vision  of  surpassing 
brightness,  his  Lord  arrayed  in  the  lustres  of  ex- 
alted humanity.  Overpowered  by  the  glory  which 
unexpectedly  burst  upon  him,  "he  fell  at  His  feet 
as  one  dead."  His  misgivings  are  stilled  ;  his  con- 
fidence and  hope  restored,  by  the  proclamation  of  a 
living  Saviour-God.  "  I  am  He  that  liveth"  (lit. 
THE  Living  One) — .and  a  similar  comforting  sym- 
bol was  given  him  in  a  subsequent  vision,  when  he 
saw  that  same  covenant  angel  "  ascending  from  the 
east,  having  the  seal  of  the  Living  God."  (Eev  i. 
18,  and  vii.  2.) 

This  was  "  the  living  Jehovah"  whom  David  now 
sought  in  the  forest-depths  of  Gilead.  He  goes  out 
to  that  solitude  to  meditate  and  pray.     But  it  is  no 


68  THE  LIVING  GOD. 

dream  of  earthly  conquest  that  occupies  him.  Deeper 
thoughts  have  taken  possession  of  liis  soul  than  the 
loss  of  a  kingdom  and  the  forfeiture  of  a  crown  ! 
A  fiercer  battle  engrosses  his  spirit  than  any  mortal 
conflict.  "  Let  me  have  God/'  he  seems  to  say,  "  as 
the  strength  of  my  heart  and  my  portion  for  ever, 
and  I  heed  not  other  portions  besides."  At  another 
time  that  lover  of  nature  would  have  caught  inspi- 
ration from  the  glories  of  the  impressive  sanctuary 
around.  He  would  have  sung  of  the  water-brooks 
at  his  side,  the  trees  bending  in  adoration,  the 
rocky  gorges  through  which  Jordan  fretted  his  tor- 
tuous way,  the  everlasting  hills  of  Hermon  and  Le- 
banon,— the  silent  guardians  of  the  scene, — "  the 
wild  beasts  of  the  forest  creeping  forth  "  and  "  seek- 
ing: their  meat  from  God."  But  now  he  has  but  one 
thought — one  longing — "  Thou  art  more  glorious 
and  excellent  than  the  mountains  of  prey''  (Ps.  Ixxvi. 
4.)  None  was  more  dependent  on  the  realised  con- 
sciousness of  the  Divine  favour  than  he.  His  Psalms 
seem  to  utter  the  language  of  one  who  lived  in  God's 
presence,  and  to  whom  the  withdrawal  of  that  en- 
dearing intercourse  and  communion  would  be  death 
indeed.     His  expressions,  in  these  holy  breathings 


THE  LIVING  GOD.  69 

of  his  soul  to  the  Father  of  sjjirits,  seem  like  those 
of  one  loving  friend  to  another.  God,  the  abstrac- 
tion of  the  Philosopher,  has  no  place  in  his  creed. 
He  speaks  of  "  the  Lord  thinking  upon  him," 
"  23utting  his  tears  into  His  bottle,"  "  guiding  him 
with  His  eye,''  "  His  right  hand  uj^holding  him," 
he  himself  "rejoicing  under  the  shadow  of  His 
wings ; "  and  as  if  he  almost  beheld  some  visible, 
tangible  form,  such  as  Peter  gazed  upon  when  the 
question  was  put  to  him  on  the  shore  of  Gennesaret, 
"  Lovest  thou  me  ? "  we  hear  this  warm,  impulsive 
Peter  of  Old  Testament  times  thus  avowing  his  per- 
sonal attachment — "I  luill  love  thee,  0  Lord  my 
strength  ;  "  "  /  love  the  Lord,  because  He  hath  heard 
iny  voice  and  Tny  supplications ; "  "  The  Lord 
LIVETH  ;  and  blessed  be  my  rock ;  and  let  the  God 
of  my  salvation  be  exalted." 

Eeader,  do  you  know  what  it  is  thus  to  exult  in 
God  as  a  living  God  ?  Not  to  think  of  Him  as 
some  mysterious  Essence,  who,  by  an  Almighty  fiat, 
impressed  on  matter  certain  general  laws,  and,  re- 
tiring into  the  solitude  of  His  own  being,  left  these 
to  work  out  their  own  processes.  But  is  there  joy 
to  you  in  the  thought  of  God  ever  nigh,  compassing 


70  THE  LIVIKG  GOD. 

your  path  and  your  lying  down  ?  Do  you  know  of 
One,  brighter  than  the  brightest  radiance  of  the 
visible  sun,  visiting  your  chamber  with  the  fir.st 
waking  beam  of  the  morning;  an  eye  of  infinite 
tenderness  and  com23assion  following  you  throughout 
the  day  ;  a  hand  of  infinite  love  guiding  you,  shield- 
ing you  from  danger,  and  guarding  you  from  temp- 
tation— the  "  Keeper  of  Israel,"  who  "  neither  slum- 
bers nor  sleeps  ? " 

And  if  gladdening  it  be,  at  all  times,  to  hear  the 
footsteps  of  this  living  God,  more  especially  glad- 
dening is  it,  as,  with  the  Exile-King  of  Israel,  in  the 
season  of  trial,  to  think  of  Him  and  to  own  Him,  in 
the  midst  of  mysterious  dealings,  as  One  who  per- 
sonally loves  you,  and  who  chastises  you  because  He 
loves  you.  The  world,  in  their  cold  vocabulary,  in 
the  hour  of  adversity,  speak  of  Providence,  "  the  will 
of  Providence,"  "  the  strokes  of  Providence."  Pro- 
vidence !  What  is  that  ?  Why  dethrone  a  living 
God  from  the  sovereignty  of  His  own  world?  Why 
substitute  a  cold,  death-like  abstraction  in  place  of 
a  livino-  One,  an  actino-  One,  a  controllino-  One,  and 
(to  as  many  as  He  loves)  a  rebuking  One  and  a  chas- 
tening One  ?   Why  forbid  the  angel  of  bereavement 


THE  LIVING  GOD.  71 

to  drop  from  his  wings  the  bahny  fragrance,  "  Thy 
Father  hath  done  it?"  How  it  woiikl  take  the  sting 
from  many  a  goading  trial  thus  to  see,  as  Job  did, 
nothing  but  the  hand  of  God — to  see  that  hand  be- 
hind the  gleaming  swords  of  the  Sabeans,  the  flash 
of  the  lio-htninof,  and  the  winojs  of  the  whirlwind — • 
and  to  say  like  David,  on  the  occasion  of  his  mourn- 
ful march  to  these  very  wilds  of  Gilead,  "  I  ivas 
dumb,  I  opened  not  my  mouth;  because  Thou 
didst  it."  (Psalm  xxxix.  9.) 

The  thought  of  a  living  God  forms  the  happi- 
ness of  Heaven.  It  is  the  joy  of  Angels.  It  forms 
the  essence  and  bliss  of  glorified  Saints.  The  re- 
deemed multitude,  while  on  earth,  ''thirsted''  for 
the  living  God,  but  they  had  then  only  some  feeble 
foretastes  of  His  presence.  They  sipped  only  some 
tiny  rills  flowing  from  the  Everlasting  Fountain ; 
now  they  have  reached  the  living  spring  ;  and  the 
long-drawn  sigh  of  the  earthly  valley  is  answered — 
"  When  shall  we  come  and  appear  before  God  ?  " 

And  what  this  living  God  is  to  the  Church  above. 
He  is  also  to  the  Church  below.  In  one  sense  we 
need  Him  more !  The  drooping,  pining  plant,  bat- 
tered down  by  rain,  and  hail,  and  tempest,  stands 


7Z  THE  LIVING  GOD. 

more  in  need  of  the  fostering  hand  and  genial  sun- 
beam than  the  sturdy  tree  whose  roots  are  firmly 
moored  in  the  soil,  or  sheltered  from  the  sweep 
of  the  storm.  Pilgrims  in  the  Valley  of  Tears  !  seek 
to  live  more  under  the  habitual  thought  of  God's 
presence.  In  dark  passages  of  our  earthly  history 
w^e  know  how  supporting  it  is  to  enjoy  the  sympathy 
of  kindred  human  friends.  What  must  it  be  to  have 
the  consciousness  of  the  presence,  and  support,  and 
nearness  of  the  Being  of  all  beings ;  when  some 
cherished  ''light  of  the  dwelling"  is  put  out,  to 
have  a  better  light  remaining,  which  sorrow  cannot 
quench !  All  know  the  story  of  the  little  child  who, 
in  simple  accents,  quieted  its  own  fears  and  that  of 
others  in  the  midst  of  a  storm.  When  the  planks 
were  creaking  beneath  them — the  hoarse  voice  of  the 
thunder  above  mingling  with  that  of  the  raging  sea  ; 
— his  tiny  finger  pointed  to  the  calm  visage  of  the 
pilot,  who  was  steering  with  brawny  arm  through 
the  surge,  ''  My  father,"  said  he,  "  is  at  the  helm  /" 
Would  you  weather  the  tempests  of  life,  and  sit 
calm  and  unmoved  amid  "the  noise  of  its  many 
waters,''  let  your  eye  rest  on  a  living  God — a  loving 
Father — a  heavenly  Pilot.     See   Him  guiding  the 


THE  LIVING  GOD.  73 

Vessel  of  your  temj^oral  and  eternal  destinies  !  Let 
Faith  be  heard  raising  her  triumphant  accents 
amid  the  pauses  of  the  storm — "  0  Lord  our  God, 
who  is  a  strong  Lord  like  unto  Thee  ?  Thou  rulest 
the  raging  of  the  sea;  tuhen  the  waves  thereof  arise, 
Thou  stillest  them."  (Psalm  Ixxxix.  9.) 

Above  all,  be  it  yours  to  enjoy  what  David  knew 
imperfectly,  the  conscious  nearness  of  a  living  Sayi- 
OUE, — a  Brother  on  the  throne  of  Heaven — "  Christ 
our  life" — God  in  our  nature — "the  man  Christ 
Jesus," — susceptible  of  every  human  sympathy — ca- 
pable of  entering,  with  infinite  tenderness,  into  every 
human  want  and  woe — bending  over  us  with  His 
pitying  eye — ^marking  out  for  us  our  path — ordering 
our  sorrows — filling  or  emptying  our  cup — providing 
our  pastures,  and  "  making  all  things  work  together 
for  our  good !  "  The  words  at  this  moment  are  as 
true  as  when,  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  they  came 
fresh  from  His  lij)s  in  Patmos — "  I  am  the  living  One ! 
— Behold,  I  am  alive  for  evermore  !"  (Rev.  i.  18.) 

What  is  the  great  lesson  from  this  meditation? 
Is  it  not  to  strive  to  he  like  God  ?  What  does 
''  thirsting  "  for  God  mean,  but  a  longing  of  the 


74  THE  LIYIXG  GOD. 

soul  after  likeness  and  conformity  to  the  Divine 
image  ?  Let  us  not  lose  the  deep  truth  of  the  text 
under  the  material  emblem.  To  thirst  for  God 
is  to  desire  His  fellowship  ;  and  we  can  only  hold 
fellowship  with  a  congenial  mind.  No  man  is  ever 
found  to  covet  the  companionship  of  those  whose 
tastes,  likings,  pursuits,  are  opposed  to  his  own. 
Place  one  whose  character  is  scarred  with  dishonour 
and  his  life  with  impurity,  introduce  him  into  the 
company  of  high-souled  men — spirits  of  sterhng  in- 
tegrity and  unblemished  virtue,  who  would  recoil 
from  the  contaminating  touch  of  vice,  wdio  would 
scorn  a  lie  as  they  would  a  poisoned  dart — ^he  cotdd 
not  be  happy ;  he  would  long  to  break  away  from 
associates  and  associations  so  utterly  distasteful  and 
uncongenial.  No  man  can  thirst  after  God  wdio  is 
not  aiming  after  assimilation  to  His  character.  God 
is  HOLY.  He  who  thirsts  for  God  must  be  athirst 
for  holiness — he  must  scorn  impurity  in  all  its 
forms,  in  thought,  word,  and  deed.  He  who  longs 
for  the  pure  cistern  must  turn  with  loathing  from 
the  muddy  pools  of  earth  and  sin.  Again,  God  is 
LOVE.  Love  is  pencilled  by  Him  on  every  flower, 
and  murmured  in  every  breeze.     The  world  is  re- 


THE  LIVING  GOD.  75 

sonant  with  chimes  of  love,  and  Calvary  is  love's 
crowning  triumph  and  consummation.  He  who 
''  thirsts  for  God  "  "  in  him  verily  is  the  love  of  God 
perfected."  He  must  have  the  lineaments  in  out- 
line, at  least,  of  a  loving  nature.  He  must  hate  all 
that  is  selfish,  delight  in  all  that  is  beneficent,  and 
seek  an  elevating  satisfaction  in  being  the  minister 
of  love  to  others.  "  He  that  dwelleth  in  love  dwell- 
eth  in  God,  and  God  in  him." 

And  what  shall  be  said  to  those  who  know  no- 
thing of  this  thirst  for  God, — to  whom  all  that 
is  here  written  is  but  as  an  idle  tale  ?  You 
may  pant  not  for  Him.  You  may  have  no  spirit- 
ual thirst  for  Him — no  longing  for  His  presence 
— no  aspiration  after  His  likeness.  But  still  He  is 
to  you,  as  to  the  believer,  a  living  God.  Yes — 
scorner  of  His  mercy !  ignore  the  truth  as  you 
may,  the  God  to  whom  you  are  responsible, — the 
God  with  whom  you  will  yet  have  "  to  do,"  that  God 
LIVES  !  His  eye  is  upon  you — His  book  is  open — 
His  pen  is  writing — the  indelible  page  is  filling ! 
You  may  see  no  trace  of  His  footstep.  You  may 
hear  no  tones  of  His  voice.     His  very  mercy  and 


76  THE  LIVING  GOD. 

forbearance  may  be  misconstrued  by  you,  as  if  it 
indicated  on  His  part  indifference  to  His  word  and 
forgetfulness  of  your  sin.  You  may  lull  yourselves 
into  the  atheist  dream,  that  the  world  is  governed 
by  blind  chance  and  fate,  that  His  heaven  and  His 
hell  are  the  forged  names  and  nullities  of  credulity 
and  superstition.  As  you  see  the  eternal  monuments 
of  His  power  and  glory  on  rock  and  mountain,  you 
may  affect  to  see  in  these  only  the  dead  hieroglyphics 
of  the  past — the  obsolete  tool-marks  of  the  God  of 
primeval  chaos,  who  welded  into  shape  the  formless 
mass,  but  having  done  so,  left  it  alone.  The  scaf- 
folding is  removed,  the  Architect  has  gone  to  uprear 
other  worlds,  and  abandoned  the  completed  globe  to 
the  control  of  universal  laws  ! 

Nay — God  lives!  ''He  is  not  far  from  any 
one  of  us."  He  is  no  Baal  di\dnity,  "  asleep  or  taking 
a  journey. '''  The  volume  of  every  heart  is  laid  open 
to  the  eye  of  the  great  Heart-searcher,  and  vainly  do 
you  seek  to  elude  His  scrutiny.  Terrible  thought ! 
this  living  God  against  you  I  You  living,  and  con- 
tent to  live  His  enemy  !  rushing  against  the  bosses 
of  His  buckler  !  and  if  you  were  to  die,  it  would  be 
in  the  attitude  of  one  fighting  against  God  ! 


THE  LIYING  GOD.  77 

No  longer  scorn  His  grace  or  reject  His  warnings. 
He  is  living ;  but,  blessed  be  His  name,  He  is  living 
and  waiting  to  be  gracious !  You  may  be  as  stranded 
vessels  on  the  sands  of  despair ;  but  the  tide  of  His 
ocean-love  is  able  to  set  you  floating  on  the  waters. 
Kepair,  without  delay,  to  His  mercy-seat.  Cast 
yourselves  on  His  free  forgiveness.  Every  attribute 
of  His  nature  which  you  have  now  armed  against 
you,  is  stretching  out  its  hand  of  welcome  and  en- 
treaty. Each  is  like  a  branch  of  the  tree  of  life, 
inviting  you  to  repose  under  its  shadow.  Each  is  a 
rill  from  the  everlasting  fountain,  inviting  you  to 
drink  of  the  unfailing  stream. 

See  that  ye  refuse  not  Him  that  speaketh.  He 
who  unlocked  that  fountain  is  even  now  standing 
by  it,  and  saying,  as  He  contrasts  it  with  all  earth's 
polluted  cisterns,  "  ]Vhosoever  drinketh  o/this  luater 
shall  thirst  again :  hut  whosoever  drinketh  of  the 
water  that  I  shall  give  him  shall  never  thirst ;  hut 
the  water  that  I  shall  give  him  shall  he  in  him  a 
well  of  ivater  springing  up  into  everlasting  life." 


IV. 


"  '  Wilt  thou  leave  me  thus/  I  cried, 
*  Whelm'd  beneath  the  rolling  tide  ? ' 
Ah  !  return  and  love  me  still ; 
See  me  subject  to  Thy  will  ; 
Frown  with  wrath,  or  smile  with  grace, 
Only  let  me  see  Thy  face  ! 
Evil  I  have  none  to  fear, 
All  is  good,  if  Thou  art  near. 
King,  and  Lord,  whom  I  adore. 
Shall  I  see  Thy  face  no  more  ? " 

— Madame  Guyon. 

"  There  is  a  persecution  sharper  than  that  of  the  axe.  There 
is  an  iron  that  goes  into  the  heart  deeper  than  the  knife.  Crui^l 
sneers,  and  sarcasms,  and  pitiless  judgments,  and  cold-hearted 
calumnies — these  are  persecution." 

".JUa?  ti\T5  f)ala'  hizw  mia  meat  ba)o  anb  ni0fit,  tofjifc  tf;c? 
contmuany  5ap  unto  me,  il^bivc  i?  tbg  43 oD  ?"— Terse  3. 


IV. 

THE  TAUNT. 

We  are  called,  in  this  chapter,  to  contemplate  a 
new  experience — David  in  tears  !  These,  his  tears, 
brought  sin  to  his  remembrance.  As,  in  looking 
through  the  powerful  lens  of  a  microscope,  the 
apparently  pellucid  drop  of  water  is  found  to  be  the 
swarming  haunt  of  noxious  things, — fierce  aninial- 
culse  devouring  one  another;  so  the  tears  of  the 
Exile  formed  a  spiritual  lens,  enabling  him  to  see 
into  the  depths  of  his  own  soul,  and  disclosing,  with 
microscopic  power,  transgressions  that  had  long 
been  consigned  to  oblivion. 

Ten  years  of  regal  prosperity  had  elapsed  since 
the  prophet  Nathan,  the  minister  of  retribution, 
stood  before  him,  in  his  Cedar  Palace,  with  heavy 
tidings  regarding  himself  and  his  house.  Time 
may  have  dimmed  the  impressions  of  that  meet- 
ing.    He  may  have  vainly   imagined,   too,    that  it 


80  THE  TAUNT. 

had  modified  the  Divine  displeasure.  Now  that 
his  head  was  white  with  sixty  winters,  he  may  have 
thought  that  God  would  exempt  him  from  further 
merited  chastisement,  and  suffer  him  to  go  down 
to  his  grave  in  peace.  But  the  day  of  reckoning, 
which  the  Divine  patience  had  long  deferred,  had 
now  come.  He  was  called  to  see  the  first  gleamings 
of  that  sword  which  the  anointed  prophet  had  told 
him  would  "never  depart  from  his  house."  (2  Sam. 
xii.  10.)  The  voice  of  long  averted  judgment  is  at 
last  heard  amid  the  thickets  and  caves  of  Gilead, — • 
"  These  things  hast  thou  clone,  and  I  kept  silence; 
thou  thoughtest  that  I  tvas  altogether  such  an  one 
as  thyself:  hut  I  will  reprove  thee,  and  set  them 
in  order  before  thine  eyes!'  (Ps.  1.  21.)  Nature,  in 
her  auoust  solitudes,  echoed  the  verdict !  The  waters 
murmured  it — the  winds  chanted  it — the  forest 
wailed  it — the  thunders  rolled  it — and  the  tears  of 
the  lonely  Exile  himself  wept  it, — "  Be  sure  your 
sin  will  find  you  out  !  "'  As  he  sat  by  the  willows  of 
Jordan,  with  his  cro\siiless  head  and  aching  heart, 
he  could  say,  in  the  words  of  an  older  Psalmist, 
"  We  are  consumed  by  Thine  anger,  and  by  T)iy 
wrath  are  lue  troubled.     Thou  hast  set  our  iniqui- 


THE  TAUNT.  81 

ties  before  Thee,  our  secret  sins  in  the  light  of  Thij 
countenance."  (Ps.  xc.  7,  8.) 

How  apt  are  we  to  entertain  the  tlionglit  that 
God  will  wink  at  sin ;  that  He  will  not  be  rigidly 
faithful  to  His  denunciations — unswervingly  true  to 
His  word.  Time's  oblivion-power  succeeds  in  erasing 
much  from  the  tablets  of  our  memories.  We  mea- 
sure the  Infinite  by  the  standard  of  the  finite,  and 
imagine  something  of  the  same  kind  regarding  the 
Great  Heart-Searcher.  Sin,  moreover,  seldom  is,  in 
this  world,  instantaneously  followed  with  punish- 
ment ;  ''  sentence  against  an  evil  work  is  not  exe- 
cuted speedily  ;"  and  the  long-suffering  patience  and 
forbearance  of  the  Almighty  is  presumptuously 
construed  by  perverse  natures  into  alteration  or 
fickleness  in  the  Divine  purpose.  But  "  God  is  not 
a  man  that  He  should  lie!"  Even  in  this  our 
present  probation  state,  (oftener  than  we  suppose,) 
the  time  arrives  for  solemn  retribution;  when  He 
makes  bare  His  arm  to  demonstrate  by  what  an 
inseparable  law  in  His  moral  government  He  has 
connected  sin  with  suffering. 

A  new  missile   pierces   this    panting,    wounded 
Hart  on  the  mountains  of  Israel.    One  of  those  who 

F 


82  THE  TAUNT. 

hurled  the  Javelm  is  specially  mentioned  in  the 
sacred  narrative.  His  poisoned  dart  must  have  been 
rankling  in  David's  soul  when  he  penned  this 
Psalm. 

AVhen  the  King  was  descending  the  eastern  slopes 
of  Olivet,  on  his  way  to  the  Valley  of  Jordan,  Shimei, 
a  Benjamite  of  Bahurim,  of  the  house  of  Saul,  came 
out  against  him,  ''  and!'  we  read,  "  cursed  still  as 
he  came.  And  he  cast  stones  at  David,  and  at  all 
the  servants  of  King  David:  and  cdl  the  people  and 
all  the  mighty  men  were  on  his  right  hand  and  on 
his  left.  And  thus  said  Shimei  ivhen  he  cursed, 
Come  out,  come  out,  thou  blood}/  man,  and  thou  man 
of  Belial :  the  Lord  hath  returned  upon  thee  all  the 
hlood  of  the  house  of  Said,  in  luhose  stead  thou  hast 
reigned  ;  and  the  Lord  hath  delivered  the  kingdom 
into  the  hand  of  Absalom  thy  son:  and,  behold,  thou 
art  taken  in  thy  mischief,  because  thou  art  a  bloody 
man.  And  as  David  and  his  men  luent  by  the  luay, 
Shimei  luent  along  on  the  hill's  side  over  against 
him,  and  cursed  him  as  he  went,  and  threw  stones 
at  him,  and  cast  dust."  (2  Sam.  xvi.  5-8,  13.)  Be- 
sides this  son  of  Gera,  there  were  many  obsequious 
flatterers  and  sycophants  at  Jerusalem — men  once  his 


THE  TAUNT.  83 

cringing  adherents,  loud  with  their  hosannahs  in  the 
time  of  his  prosperity — who  had  now  turned  against 
him  in  his  adversity,  and  become  the  jDartisans  of 
the  usurper.  They  exulted  over  his  downfall,  and 
followed  him  to  the  place  of  exile  with  the  taunting 
cry,  "  Where  is  now  thy  God  ? "  "  i/me  enemies^' 
said  he,  "  speak  against  me  ;  and  they  that  lay  wait 
for  my  soul  take  counsel  together,  saying,  God  hath 
forsaken  him  :  persecute  and  take  him;  for  there 
is  none  to  deliver  hiin^  (Psalm  Ixxi.  10,  11.) 

There  is  no  trial  keener,  no  anguish  of  soul  in- 
tenser  than  this.  Let  not  any  talk  of  taunt  and 
ridicule  beino^  a  trivial  and  insimificant  thins; — 
unworthy  of  thought.  Let  not  any  say  that  the 
believer,  entrenched  in  a  lordly  castle — the  very 
fortress  of  God — should  be  above  the  shafts  hurled 
from  the  bow  of  envy,  or  the  venomous  arrows  from 
the  tongue  of  the  scofifer.  It  is  often  because  the 
taunt  is  contemptible  that  it  is  hardest  to  bear. 
The  sting  of  the  adder  rouses  into  fury  tlie  lordly 
lion.  The  tiniest  insect  blanches  the  colour  of  the 
loveliest  flower,  and  causes  it  to  hang  its  pining 
head.  Sorrow  is  in  itself  difficult  of  endurance,  but 
bitter  is  the  aggravation  when  others  are  ready  to 


84  THE  TAUNT. 

make  a  jest  of  our  sorrows.  No  water  is  bad  enough 
to  the  fainting  i)ilgiini,  but  worse  is  it  when  he  is 
mocked  by  the  mirage  or  bitter  pool. 

All  the  more  poignant,  too,  were  these  tannts  in 
the  case  of  David,  because  too  well  did  he  know 
that  such  reproaches  were  merited, — that  he  himself 
had  furnished  his  enemies  with  the  gall  and  the 
wormwood  that  had  been  mingled  in  his  cup.  The 
dark,  foul  blots  of  his  past  life,  he  had  too  good 
reason  to  fear,  were  now  emboldening  them  to  blas- 
pheme. He  had  for  years  been  "  the  Sweet  Singer 
of  Israel;" — his  future  destiny  was  the  Psalmist  of 
the  universal  Church.  His  subhme  appeals,  and 
fervent  prayers,  and  holy  musings,  were  to  support, 
and  console,  and  sustain  till  the  end  of  time,  bul- 
lions on  millions,  on  beds  of  pain,  and  in  hours  of 
solitude  and  times  of  bereavement,  were  to  have 
their  faith  elevated,  their  hopes  revived,  their  love 
warmed  and  strengthened  by  listening  to  the  harp 
of  the  Minstrel  King.  And  now,  as  his  faitli  begins 
to  languish,  now  as  a  temporary  wave  of  temptation 
sweeps  him  from  his  footing  on  the  Rock,  and  tlie 
"  Beloved  of  God  "  wanders  an  exile  and  outcast, — a 
shout  is  raised  by  those  who  were  strangers  to  all 


THE  TAUNT.  85 

his  sublime  sources  of  consolation — "  Where  is  noiu 
thy  God  I  Where  is  He  whom  thou  hast  sung  of 
as  the  help  of  the  g<^dly,  the  refuge  of  the  dis- 
tressed ?  Where,  uncrowned  one  !  is  the  answer  to 
thy  prayers?  Where  is  He  of  whom  thou  didst 
boast  as  being  known  in  all  thy  Zion  palaces  as  a 
refuge  ?  Thou  hast  taught  others  and  taught  thy- 
self to  believe  a  lie.  0  Lucifer,  son  of  the  morn- 
ing 1  how  art  thou  fallen  !  " 

For  the  moment,  this  crushing  sarcasm  can  be 
answered  by  nothing  but  a  flood  of  anguished  tears. 
He  was  below  the  wave  ;  and  though  he  was  soon  to 
know  that  below  that  wave  there  was  an  Arm  lower 
still,  yet  for  the  present  he  was  dumb  under  the 
averment.  There  was  no  light  in  the  cloud.  He 
was  unable  to  lay  hold  of  a  former  comforting  ex- 
perience— "  Thou  hast  hioivn  my  soul  in  adversi- 
ties." (Psalm  xxxi.  7.) 

Oh,  how  jealous  we  should  be  of  anything  that 
would  reduce  us  so  low  as  this,  and  give  a  handle  to 
the  adversary !  Beware  of  religious  inconsistency. 
One  fatal  step,  one  unguarded  word  may  undo  a 
lifetime  of  hallowed  influence.  One  scar  on  the 
character,  one  blot  on  the  page  of  the  living  epistle 


86  Thii]  TAUNT. 

is  indelible.  It  may  he  washed  away,  indeed,  by 
the  blood  of  sjDrinkling,  so  that  nothing  of  it  will 
remain  against  you  in  the  book  of  God ;  but  the 
eye  and  memory  of  the  world,  keen  to  watch  and 
treasure  the  inconsistencies  of  God's  people,  will  not 
so  easily  forgive  or  forget !  The  Hart  laid  itself 
open  to  the  toils  of  the  huntsman.  It  was  hit  by 
the  archers.  One  fierce  dart  of  temptation  sped  with 
unerring  aim.  It  has  left  the  track  of  blood  behind 
it  in  the  glades  of  the  forest — the  unbelieving  world 
hounds  in  remorseless  pursuit,  and  the  taunting  cry 
will  follow  to  the  grave ! 

Are  there  any  who  feel  that  the  experience  of 
David  is  their  own, — who  either  by  reason  of  reli- 
gious inconsistency  or  religious  declension  have  laid 
themselves  open  to  the  upbraiding  question,  "  Where 
is  thy  God  V — Perhaps  religious  declension  is  the 
more  common  of  the  two.  You  are  not,  as  we  have 
surmised  in  a  previous  chapter,  what  once  you  were. 
You  have  not  the  same  love  of  the  Saviour  as  once 
you  had — the  same  confidence  in  His  dealings — the 
same  trust  in  His  faithfulness — the  same  zeal  for 
His  glory.  Afiliction,  when  it  comes,  does  not  lead 
you,  as  once  it  did,  to  cheerful  acquiescence — to  the 


THE  TAUNT.  8T 

clierishing  of  a  meek,  unmurmuring  submissive 
spirit  under  God's  sovereign  will  and  discipline,  but 
rather  to  a  hasty,  misgiving  frame— fretting  and 
repining  when  you  should  be  prostrate  at  the  mercy- 
seat,  saying,  "  The  luill  of  the  Lord  be  done  /" 

Not  in  scorn,  but  in  sober  seriousness,  in  Chris- 
tian affection  and  fidelity,  we  ask,  "  Where  is  now 
thy  God  r     "  Ye  did  run  well ;  who  hath  hindered 
you  r     What  is  the  guilty  cause,  the  lurking  evil, 
that   has   dragged   you   imperceptibly   down   from 
weakness   to  weakness,   and  has   left   you  a  poor, 
baffled  thing,  with  the  finger  of   irrehgious  scorn 
pointed  at  you,  and  whose  truthfulness  is  echoed 
back  from  the  lonely  voids  of  your  desolate  heart? 
Eeturn,  0  backsliding  children !     Eeniain  no  longer 
as  you  are,  at  this  guilty  distance  from  that  God 
who,  amid  all  the  fitfulness  of  your  love  to  Him,  re- 
mains unahered  and  unalterable  in  His  love  to  you. 
Be  not  absorbed  in  tears,  wringing  your  hands  in 
moping  melancholy— abandoning  yourself  to  ima- 
vailing  remorse  and  despair.     The  past  may  be  bad 
enough!     You  may  have   done  foul  dishonour  to 
your  God.     By  some  sad  and  fatal  inconsistency,  you 
may  have  given   occasion  to  the  ungodly  to  point 


88  THE  TAUJST. 

at  you  the  finger  of  scorn.  The  fair  alabaster  pillar 
may  be  stained  with  some  crimson  transgression.  Or 
if  there  be  no  special  blot  to  which  they  can  point, 
there  may  be  a  lamentable  spiritual  deterioration  in 
your  daily  walk.  They  may  have  observed  your  love 
to  God  waxing  cold — your  love  of  the  world  wax- 
ing strong.  They  may  have  heard  you  nmrmur  at 
your  Lord's  dealings,  question  His  faithfulness,  and 
refuse  to  hear  and  to  bear  the  rod — manifesting  tem- 
pers, or  indulging  in  pursuits  sadly  and  strangely 
unlike  what  would  be  sanctioned  by  the  example  of 
your  Divine  Eedeemer.  Up  !  and  with  determined 
energy  resolve  henceforth  to  repair  the  breach, — 
henceforth  to  make  a  new  start  in  the  heavenly  life. 
The  shrill  trumpet  sounds — "Aiuake,  thou  that  steep- 
est, and  arise  from  the  dead,  and  Christ  shall  give 
thee  life  !  "  We  cannot  say,  like  the  King  of  Nine- 
veh, "  Who  can  tell  if  God  will  turn  and  repent  r 
He  has  never  turned !  You  have  turned  from  Him, 
not  He  from  yoa.  "  Where  is  now  thy  God  I  "  He 
is  the  same  as  ever  He  was  ; — boundless  in  His 
compassion — true  to  His  covenant — faithful  to  His 
promises  ;  ''  the  same  yesterday,  and  to-day,  and 
for  ever  I " 


THE  TAUNT.  89 

Eeader  !  if  He  be  afflicting  you  as  He  did  Da- 
vid ; — if  with  an  exile  spirit  you  be  roaming  some 
moral  wilderness,  the  flowers  of  earth  faded  on  your 
path,  and  the  bleak  winds  of  desolation  and  cala- 
mity sweeping  and  sighing  around,  let  these  times 
of  affliction  lead  to  deep  searchings  of  heart.  Let 
your  tears  be  as  the  dewdrops  of  the  morning  on  the 
tender  leaves,  causing  you  to  bend  in  lowly  sorrow 
and  self-abasement,  only  to  be  raised  again,  refresh- 
ed, to  inhale  new  fragranx^e  in  the  summer  sun.  If, 
like  the  weeping  woman  of  Galilee,  you  are  saying, 
through  blinding  tears,  "  They  have  taken  away  my 
Lord,  and  I  know  not  ivhere  they  have  laid  Him" 
— if,  like  the  Spouse  in  the  Canticles,  you  are  going 
about  the  city  in  search  of  your  Beloved ; — seeking 
Him,  He  will  be  found  of  you.  The  watchmen  may 
smite  you — repel  you — tear  off"  your  veil — and  load 
you  with  reproaches; — but  "fear  not  !  ye  seek  Jesus 
who  ivas  crucified  !"  He  will  meet  you  as  He  did 
the  desponding  Magdalene,  and,  listening  like  her  to 
His  own  tones  of  ineffable  love,  you  will  cast  your- 
self at  His  feet,  and  exclaim,  "  Eabboni — Mastek  ! " 


4 


V. 


"  He  wounds,  and  hides  the  hand  that  gave  the  "blow  j 
He  flies,  He  reappears,  and  wounds  again; 
Was  ever  heart  that  loved  thee  treated  so  ? 
Yet  I  adore  Thee,  though  it  seem  in  vain." 

— Coii-per. 

"Because  for  thy  sake  I  have  borne  reproach;  shame  hath 
covered  my  face.  I  am  become  a  stranger  unto  my  brethren, 
and  an  alien  unto  my  mother's  children.  Reproach  hath  broken 
my  heart ;  and  I  am  full  of  heaviness  :  and  I  looked  for  some  to 
take  pity,  but  there  was  none ;  and  for  comforters,  but  I  found 
none." — Psalm  Ixix.  7,  8,  20. 

"  X^.x}  tears  fjalic  liccn  mn  meat  ban  anH  rn'ol^t,  to^ile  tj^eio 
continuaH?  saio  unto  me,  lD[;ere  is  t&p  43oti  ? "—  Verse  3. 


V. 

THE  TAUNT. 

The  Great  Accuser  of  the  brethren  in  a  variety  of 
ways  attempts  to  insinuate  the  same  dark  doubts  in 
the  minds  of  believers,  which  we  have  spoken  of  in 
the  preceding  pages.  He  tries  to  shake  their  confi- 
dence in  God, — in  the  veracity  of  His  word,  and  the 
faithfulness  of  His  dealings.  He  would  lead  them  to 
discover  in  His  providential  dispensations  what  is  in- 
consistent with  His  revealed  character  and  will.  In 
seasons  particularly  of  outward  calamity  and  trouble, 
when  the  body  is  racked  with  pain,  its  nerves  un- 
strung, or  its  affections  blighted  and  wounded — when 
the  mind  is  oppressed  and  harassed,  the  soul  in  dark- 
ness— the  Prince  of  this  world,  who  times  his  as- 
saults with  such  consummate  skill,  not  unfrequently 
gains  in  such  seasons  a  temporary  triumph.  The 
shadow  of  a  cold  scepticism  passes  over  the  soul.  It 
is  silent  under  the  cry,  "  Where  is  thy  God  ?  " 


92  THE  TAUNT. 

Have  any  of  you  ever  known  this  acutest  anguish 
of  the  human  spirit, — those  appalling  moments  of 
doubt,  when  for  a  moment  the  whole  citadel  of 
truth  seems  to  rock  to  its  foundations, — when  the 
soul  becomes  a  dungeon  with  grated  bars,  or  in  which 
the  licfht  of  heaven  is  transmitted  throuo;h  distorted 
glass,  and  the  finger  of  unbelief  is  pointed  inwards, 
with  the  old  sneer,  "  Where  is  the  God  you  were  wont 
to  boast  of  in  your  day  of  prosperity?  Where  is 
there  evidence  that  one  prayer  you  ever  offered  has 
been  heard — one  blessing  you  ever  supplicated  been 
granted — one  evil  you  ever  deprecated  been  averted 
or  removed  ?  Where  one  evidence  of  His  hand  in 
your  allotments  in  life  ?  These  heavens  have  never 
broken  silence !  Hundreds  of  years  have  elapsed 
since  His  voice  was  last  heard.  Moreover,  you  have 
only  some  old  parchment  leaves  written  by  converted 
Pharisees  and  Galilean  fishermen  to  tell  that  Deity 
ever  gave  audible  utterances  out  of  the  thick  dark- 
ness. May  not  His  very  being  be  after  all  a  fiction, 
a  delusion — His  Bible  a  worn-out  figment  which 
superstition  and  priestcraft  have  successfully  palmed 
upon  the  world  ?  Or  if  you  do  believe  in  a  God  and 
in  a  written  revelation,  have  you  not  good  reason,  at 


THE  TAUNT.  93 

all  events,  to  infer  from  His  adverse  dealings  that  He 
cares  nothing  for  you.  He  has  proved  Himself  deaf 
to  your  cries.  Where  is  the  mercy  in  such  an  afflic- 
tion as  yours  ?  He  has  crossed  your  every  scheme, 
blasted  your  fairest  gourds.  His  appointments  are 
surely  arbitrary.  He  takes  useful  lives,  and  leaves 
useless  ones.  He  takes  the  wheat,  and  leaves  the 
chaff.  The  chairs  he  empties  are  those  of  the  kind 
and  good,  the  loving  and  beloved.  He  leaves  the 
wicked,  and  proud,  and  selfish,  and  profligate.  Can 
there  be  a  God  on  the  earth  ?  Where  is  the  justice 
and  judgment  which  are  'the  habitation  of  His 
throne ' — where  the  '  mercy  and  the  truth '  that  are 
said  to  '  go  before  His  face  V  " 

Such,  you  may  say,  are  awful  imaginations — too 
a\\^ful  to  speak  of.  But  such  there  are  !  It  is  the 
horror  of  great  darkness — spirits  from  the  abyss 
sent  to  trouble  the  pools  of  ungodly  thought,  and 
stir  them  from  their  depths. 

Ye  who  are  thus  assaulted,  do  you  ever  think,  in 
the  midst  of  these  horrible  insinuations,  of  One 
who  had  to  bear  the  same  ?  Think  of  that  challenge 
which  wrung  a  spotless  human  soul  in  the  hour  of  its 
deepest  anguish — ''  He  trusted  on  the  Lord  that  He 


94  THE  TAUNT. 

would  deliver  him :  let  Him  deliver  him,  seeing  he 
delighted  in  Him."  (Ps.  xxii.  8.)  It  was  the  same 
taunt  in  His  case  as  in  yours !  It  was  the  cruel, 
poignant  sneer,  that  He  had,  during  all  his  lifetime 
of  confiding  filial  love,  been  trusting  to  a  falsehood, 
— that  if  God  had  really  been  His  Father  and  He 
His  Son,  ten  thousands  of  legions  of  angels  would 
have  been  down  now  by  the  side  of  His  cross  to 
unbind  His  cords  and  set  the  Victim  free ! 

Let  the  merciful,  the  wondrous  forbearance  of 
Christ  be  a  lesson  to  ourselves  in  the  endurance  of  the 
taunts  of  a  scornful  world  and  of  the  Father  of  lies. 
How  easily  might  He  have  resented  and  answered 
the  challenge  by  a  descent  from  the  cross,  by  having 
the  pierced  feet  and  hands  set  free, — the  crown  of 
thorns  replaced  by  a  diadem  of  glory,  scattering  the 
scofiinoj  crew  like  chaff  before  the  whirlwind !  But 
in  meek,  majestic  silence  the  Lamb  of  God  suffers 
Himself  to  be  bound,  the  Victim  gives  no  struggle. 
Let  them  scoff  on  I  He  will  save  others.  Himself 
he  will  not  save  !  Nor  did  all  their  scoffing,  their 
taunts  and  ridicule,  tend  for  a  solitary  moment  to 
shake  His  confidence  in  His  heavenly  Father.  These 
fell  like  spent  spray  on  the  Eock  of  Ages.     When 


THE  TAUNT.  95 

the  Clip  of  trembling  was  in  His  hands,  sinking 
humanity  for  the  moment  seemed  to  stagger.  He 
breathed  the  prayer,  "  Let  it  pass  from  me."  But 
immediately  He  added  the  condition  of  nn swerving 
filial  trust,  "  Nevertheless,  0  my  Father,  not  as  I 
luill,  hut  as  Thou  wilt."  Even  in  the  crisis  of  all, 
when  He  was  mourning  the  eclipse  of  that  Father's 
countenance — in  that  last  gasp  of  superhuman  agony, 
He  proclaims,  in  answer  to  the  taunts  of  earth  and 
hell,  His  unshaken  trust,  "  My  God,  my  God  !  " 

Comforting  surely  to  the  reviled,  the  ridiculed,  and 
persecuted,  that,  severe  and  poignant  as  their  sorrow 
is,  they  are  undergoing  only  what  their  Lord  and 
Master,  in  an  inconceivably  more  awful  form,  expe- 
rienced before  them!  Yes  !  think  how  He  had  to 
encounter  the  ingratitude  of  faithless,  the  treachery 
of  trusted  friends.  The  limbs  He  healed  brought  no 
succour — the  tongues  He  unloosed  lisped  no  accents  of 
compassion — the  eyes  He  unsealed  gave  no  looks  of 
love.  Those  lips  that  spake  as  never  man  spake,  drop- 
ping wherever  they  went  balm-words  of  mercy,  now 
in  vain  make  the  appeal  to  the  scoffing  crowd,  "Have 
pity  upon  me,  have  pity  upon  me,  0  ye  my  friends, 
for  the  hand  of  God  hath  touched  me  !  "     Oh,  when 


96  THE  TAUNT. 

in  deeper  than  the  water-floods  of  Gilead,  this  wound- 
ed Hart  of  Heaven  lay  panting  and  bleeding  under 
the  curse, — when  arrow  after  arrow  was  poured  upon 
Him  from  the  sliafts  of  men,  and  the  bitter  cry  re- 
sounded in  His  dying  ears,  Where  is  thy  God  ? — how 
did  He  answer?  what  was  His  response?  Listen 
to  the  apostle's  sublime  comment  on  that  scene  of 
blended  love  and  suffering — "  Who,  luhen  He  was 
reviled,  reviled  not  again;  when  He  suffered.  He 
theeatened  not  ;  but  committed  himself  to 
Him  that  judgeth  etghteously/' 

As  the  face,  the  hidden  face  of  God,  beamed  upon 
the  Son  of  His  love  in  the  midst  of  that  apparent 
desolation,  so  will  it  be,  children  of  affliction  and 
sorrow !  with  you.  Others  may  see  in  your  tears 
nothing  but  an  indication  of  the  desertion  of  God, 
— the  visitations  of  His  wrath  and  judgment.  But 
believe  it,  these  very  experiences  of  trouble  and 
calamity,  of  bereavement  or  death,  are  all  meted  out 
and  apportioned  for  you  in  love — drop  by  drop,  tear 
by  tear.  Seek  to  see  God's  hand  in  all  that  befalls 
you.  Try,  even  in  the  most  adverse  j^rovidences,  to 
rise  above  second  causes.  Be  it  with  you  as  with 
David  in  his  conduct  towards  Shimei.     When  the 


THE  TAUNT.  97 

insulting  Benjamite  was  hurling  these  cruel  taunts 
against  the  exiled  King  and  the  sorrowing  Father, 
— when  his  incensed  soldiers,  burning  with  indigna- 
tion, were  on  the  point  of  drawing  their  swords  and 
inflicting  summary  vengeance  on  the  scoffer — '*  Why 
should  this  dead  dog,"  said  Abishai,  "  curse  my  lord 
the  king  1  let  'me  go  over.  I  j^ray  thee,  and  take  off 
his  head  " — David's  reply  is,  "  Nay  !  I  hear  not  that 
man's  voice — I  see  not  that  man's  face — my  eye  is 
above  the  human  instrument,  on  the  God.  who  sent 
him — '  Let  him  curse  on,  for  the  Lord  hath  hidden 
him.' "  (2  Sam.  xvi.  11.) 

Trust  God  in  tlie  dark.  Ah  !  it  is  easy  for  us  to 
follow  Him  and  to  trust  Him  in  sunshine.  It  is 
easy  to  follow  our  Leader  as  Israel  did  the  pillar- 
cloud,  when  a  glorious  pathway  was  opened  up  for 
them  through  the  tongue  of  the  Red  Sea — when 
they  pitched  under  shady  palms  and  gushing  foun- 
tains, and  heaven  rained  down  bread  on  the  hungry 
camp.  But  it  is  not  so  easy  to  follow  when  foun- 
tains fail  and  the  pillar  ceases  to  guide,  and  all  out- 
ward and  visible  supports  are  withdrawn.  But  then 
is  the  time  for  faith  to  rise  to  the  ascendant; — 
when  the  world  is  loud  with  its  atheist  sneer,  THEN 


98  THE  TAUNT. 

is  the  time  to  manifest  a  simple,  child-like  trust, 
and,  amid  baffling  dispensations  and  frowning  pro- 
vidences, to  exclaim,  "  Though  He  slay  me,  yet  ivill 
I  trust  in  Him  !  ' 

Yes — "  troubled,  we  are  XOT  distressed  ;  perpleooed, 
we  are  NOT  in  despair  ;  persecuted,  we  are  not /or- 
saken ;  cast  doiun,  we  are  not  destroyed."  We 
ARE  ready,  scofhng  world  I  to  answer  the  question, 
Where  is  thy  God  ? 

Child  of  Sickness  !  bound  down  for  years  on 
that  lonely  23illow  ! — the  night-lamp  thy  companion 
— disease  wasting  thy  checks  and  furrowing  thy 
brow — ^weary  days  and  nights  appointed  thee — tell 
me,  Where  is  thy  God  ?  He  is  here,  is  the  reply ; 
His  presence  takes  loneliness  from  ray  chamber  and 
sadness  from  my  countenance.  His  promises  are  a 
pillow  for  my  aching  head, — they  point  me  onwards 
to  that  better  land  where  "  the  inhabitant  shall  no 
more  say,  I  am  sick  !  " 

Child  of  Poverty  !  Where  is  thy  God  ?  Can  He 
visit  this  rude  dwelling?  Can  God's  promises  be 
hung  on  these  broken  rafters  ?  Can  the  light  of  His 
word  illumine  that  cheerless  hearth  and  sustain  that 
bent  figure  shivering  over  its  smouldering  ashes  ? 


THE  TAUNT.  99 

Yes !  He  is  here.     The  lips  of  Truth  that  uttered 
the  beatitude,  "  Blessed  he  ye  poor"  have  not  spoken 
in  vain.      Bound  down  by  chill  penury — forsaken 
and  forgotten  in  old  age— no  footstep  of  mercy  heard 
on  my  gloomy  threshold— no  lip  of  man  to  drop  the 
kindly  word — no  hand  of  succour  to  replenish  the 
empty  cupboard— that  God  above  has  not  deserted 
me.     He  has  led  me  to  seek  and  lay  up  my  treasure 
in  a  home  where  want  cannot  enter,  and  where  the 
beggar's  hovel  is  transformed  into  the  kingly  mansion! 
Beeeaved  One  !    Where  is  thy  God  ?   Where  is 
the   arm  of  Omnipotence  thou  wast  wont  to  lean 
upon  ?     Has  He  forgotten  to  be  gracious  ?     Has  He 
mocked  thy  prayers,  by  trampling  in  the  dust  thy 
dearest  and  best,  and  left  thee  to  pine  and  agonise  in 
the  bitterness  of  thy  swept  heart  and  home  ?        Nay, 
He  is  here  I     He  has  swept  down  my  fondest  idol, 
but  it  was  in  order  that  He  himself  might  occupy 
the  vacant  seat.     I  know  Him  too  well  to  question 
the  faithfulness  of  His  word,  and  the  fidelity  of  His 
dealings.     I  have  never  known  what  a  God  He  was, 
till  this  hour  of  bitter  trial  overtook  me  !  There  wa5 
a  "  need  be  "  in  every  tear — every  death-bed — every 
grave ! 


100  THE  TAUNT. 

DYmG  Man  !  the  billows  are  around  thee — the 
world  is  receding — the  herald  symptoms  of  approach- 
ing dissolution  are  gathering  fast  around  thy  pil- 
low— the  soul  is  pluming  its  wings  for  the  immortal 
flight ;  ere  memory  begins  to  fade,  and  the  mind 
becomes  a  waste, — ere  the  names  of  friends,  when 
mentioned,  will  only  be  answered  by  a  dull,  vacant 
look,  and  then  the  hush  of  awful  silence, — tell  me, 
ere  the  last  lingering  ray  of  consciousness  and 
thought  has  vanished,  Where  is  thy  God  ? 

He  is  here  !  I  feel  the  everlasting  arms  under- 
neath and  round  about  me.  Heart  and  flesh  are 
failing.  The  mists  of  death  are  dimming  my  eyes 
to  the  things  below,  but  they  are  opening  on  the 
magnificent  vistas  of  eternity.  Yondee  He  is ! 
seated  amid  armies  of  angels.  "  My  soul  thirsteth 
for  God,  for  the  living  God  ! "  "  This  God  shall 
BE  MY  God  for  ever  and  ever  !  " 


VI. 


"  Dear  is  the  Sabbath  morn  to  me, 
AVhen  village  bells  awake  the  day. 
And  with  their  holy  minstrelsy 
Call  me  from  earthly  cares  away. 

"  And  dear  to  me  the  winged  hour, 
Spent  in  thy  hallow'd  courts,  0  Lord, 
To  feel  devotion's  soothing  power, 
And  catch  the  manna  of  Thy  Word. 

"  And  dear  to  me  the  loud  'Amen,' 
That  echoes  through  the  blest  abode — 
That  swells,  and  sinks,  and  swells  again. 
Dies  on  the  ear — but  lives  to  God. 

"  Oft  when  the  world,  with  iron  hand. 
Has  bound  me  in  its  six  days'  chain. 
This  bursts  them,  like  a  strong  man's  band. 
And  bade  my  spirit  live  again." 

"  And  the  king  said  unto  Zadok,  Carry  back  the  ark  of  God 
into  the  city :  if  I  shall  find  favour  in  the  eyes  of  the  Lord,  he 
will  bring  me  again,  and  shew  me  both  it,  and  his  habitation."— 
2  Sa7n.  XV.  25. 

"  lDl)cn  3"  rcmemicu  thisc  tfingsf,  3?  pour  out  mn  5ou{  in  \m : 
for  3^  fiati  r^o\K  \nirl)  th>:  muTtitubr,  f  ttjtnt  'with  tf)rm  'o  vh: 
fjousc  of  «i?oi),  laid)  tht  \ioicc  of  jo?  anti  praise,  mnh  a  muUituDe 
tf;at  hcpt  fjotn-Dan. —  Verne  4. 


VI. 

SABBATH  MEMORIES. 

We  always  commiserate  those  \vlio  have  seen  better 
days.  Poverty,  indeed,  under  any  form,  appeals 
with  irresistible  power  to  the  sympathies  of  our 
better  nature.  The  most  heartless  and  indiflferent 
cannot  refuse  the  tribute  of  pity  to  the  ragged  beggar 
shivering  on  the  street,  or  seated  in  his  hovel  by  the 
ashes  of  a  spent  fire,  brooding  over  a  wretched  past, 
with  the  grim  spectral  forms  of  want  hovering  over 
a  miserable  future. 

Sad,  however,  as  the  condition  of  such  may  be, 
habit,  in  one  sense,  may  have  become  to  that  squalid 
pauper  a  second  nature.  He  may  never  have  known 
a  more  jDros^Derous  state.  He  may  have  been  inured 
from  his  earliest  years  to  buffet  life's  wintry  storm. 
Chill  penury  may  have  rocked  his  cradle,  and  ever 
since  sung  her  rude  lullaby  over  his  pallet  of  straw. 
Far  more  is  to  be  pitied  the  case  of  those  who  have 
sunk  from  comfort  into  indigence,  around  whose 


104  SABBATH  MEMORIES. 

early  home  no  bleak  winds  of  adversity  ever  blow, 
who  were  once  pillowed  in  the  lap  of  plenty  if  not 
of  luxury,  but  who,  by  some  sudden  wave  of  cala- 
mity, have  become  wrecks  on  life's  desert  shore.  If 
there  be  one  being  on  God's  earth  more  to  be  pitied 
than  another,  it  is  the  mother  of  a  once  joyous 
home,  turned  adrift,  in  the  hour  of  her  widowhood, 
with  her  ragged  children ; — forced  to  sing,  from 
door  to  door,  to  escape  the  jaws  of  hungry  famine, — 
iU  disguising,  under  her  heap  of  squalid  rags  or  her 
trembling  notes  of  sorrow  and  despair,  the  story  of 
brighter  days. 

Similar  is  the  commiseration  we  extend  (let  the 
shores  of  this  Eefuge  Island  of  ours  bear  testimony) 
to  the  hapless  patriot  or  the  fallen  monarch.  These 
may  have  been  hurled  from  j)ositions  of  influence  or 
Jpinnacles  of  glory  more  by  their  crimes  than  by  their 
misfortunes.  The  revolutionary  wave  that  swept 
them  from  their  country  or  their  thrones  may  have 
been  a  just  retribution  for  misrule  ;  but  it  is  their 
hour  of  adversity  !  They  have  seen  better  and  more 
auspicious  times.  Pity  for  the  fallen  knocks,  and 
never  knocks  in  vain,  at  the  heart  of  a  great  nation's 
sympathies. 


SABBATH  MEMORIES.  105 

Such  was  David's  position  at  tliis  time.  Denied 
the  sympathy  of  others,  his  own.  soul  is  filled  with 
recollections  of  a  far  different  past.  The  monarch 
of  Israel,  the  beloved  of  God,  the  idol  of  his  people ; 
now  a  fugitive  from  his  capital — his  palace  sacked 
— his  crown  dishonoured — wandering  in  ignoble 
exile — a  wreck  of  vanished  glory  ! 

But  it  is  not  these  features  of  his  humiliatino-  fall 
on  which  his  mind  mainly  dwells.  It  is  not  the 
thought  of  his  sceptre  wrested  from  his  grasp — his 
army  in  mutiny — his  royal  residence  a  den  of  traitors 
— that  fills  his  soul  with  most  poignant  sorrow.  He 
is  an  exile  from  the  House  of  God  !  The  joy  of  his 
old  Sabbaths  is  for  the  time  suspended  and  for- 
feited. No  more  is  the  sound  of  silver  trumpets 
heard  summoning  the  tribes  to  the  new  moons  and 
solemn  feast-days!  No  more  does  he  behold,  in 
thought,  the  slopes  of  Olivet  studded  with  pilgrim 
tents  or  made  vocal  with  "  songs  in  the  night ! "  No 
more  does  he  see  the  triumphant  procession  wend- 
ing up  the  hill  of  Zion — timbrel  and  pipe  and  lute 
and  voice  celebrating  in  glad  accord  the  high  praises 
of  God  ; — "  the  singers  in  front,  and  the  players  on 
instruments  behind." — he  himself,  harp  in  hand,  (the 


106  SABBATH  MEMOEIES. 

true  father  of  his  people,)  leading  the  jubilant  chorus, 
and  Jehovah  commanding  upon  all  "  the  blessing, 
even  life  for  evermore  !  " 

How  changed  !  To  this  Sabbath-loving  and  Sab- 
bath-keeping King  nothing  but  the  memory  of  these 
remained.  "  When  1 7^emember  these  things,  I  pour 
out  my  soul  in  me  :  for  I  had  gone  luith  the  multi- 
tude, I  ivent  luith  them  to  the  house  of  God,  ivith 
the  voice  of  joy  and  praise,  ivith  a  multitude  that 
kept  holy -day." 

Jerusalem  was  the  jDride  and  glory  of  the  Jew. 
'V\nierever  he  went,  he  turned  to  it  as  to  his  best 
and  fondest  home.  The  windows  of  Daniel's  cham- 
ber WTre  "  open  towards  Jerusalem."  With  his  eye 
in  the  direction  of  the  holy  city,  "  he  kneeled  upon 
his  knees  three  times  a-day,  and  p)rayed,  and  gave 
thanks  before  his  God,  as  he  did  aforetime"  (Dan. 
vi.  10.)  Jonah  was  in  the  strangest  of  prisons. 
"The  depths  closed  round  about  hini,  the  w^eeds 
were  wrapped  about  his  head,  and  the  earth  with  its 
iron  bars.''  From  "  the  belly  of  hell  "  he  sent  up  his 
cry  to  God.  "  I  am  cast  out  of  thy  sight,  yet  I  will 
look  again  toward  thy  holy  temple."  (Jonah  ii.  2.) 
Captive  Israel  are  seated,  in  mute  despondency,  by 


SABBATH  INIEMORIES.  107 

the  willowed  banks  of  the  streams  of  Babylon.  The 
Euphrates  (an  ocean  river  compared  with  the  tiny 
streams  of  Palesthie)  rolled  past  them.  The  city  of 
the  hundred  gates  rose,  like  a  dream  of  giant  glory, 
before  their  view,  with  its  colossal  walls,  and  towers, 
and  hanging  gardens.  Yet  what  were  they  in  the 
eyes  of  these  exile  spectators  ?  Shadows  of  great- 
ness in  com2:»arison  with  tlie  city  and  temple  of 
their  fathers  amid  the  hills  of  Judah  !  When  their 
oppressors  demanded  of  them  a  Hebrew  melody, 
saying,  "  Sing  us  one  of  the  songs  of  Zion,"  they 
answered,  through  hot  tears  of  sorrowful  remem- 
brance, "How  shall  ive  sing  the  Lord's  song  in  a 
strange  land?"  (Ps.  cxxxvii.  4.)  So  it  was  with 
David  now.  As  a  bird  taken  from  its  home  in  the 
forest  and  placed  in  a  cage,  refuses  to  warble  a  joy- 
ous note, — beats  its  plumage  against  the  enclosing 
bars,  and  struggles  to  get  free — so  he  seems  to  long 
for  wings  that  he  may  flee  away  to  the  hallowed 
eaves  of  the  sanctuary,  and  be  at  rest  I 

He  himself,  indeed,  uses  a  similar  figure.  He  tells 
us,  in  another  Psalm,  vv'ritten  on  this  same  occasion, 
that  so  blessed  did  he  feel  ttiose  to  be  who  enjoyed 
the  privilege  of  "  dwelling  in  God's  house,"  and  so 


1  08  SABBATH  MEMORIES. 

ardent  was  his  longing  to  participate  in  their  joy, 
that  he  half-envied  the  swallows  who  constructed  their 
nests  upon  its  roof.  (Ps.  Ixxxiv.)  He  was  not  without 
his  solaces  in  this  season  of  reverse  and  calamity. 
He  had  many  faithful  adherents  still  clinging  to  him 
in  his  adversity.  The  best  and  bravest  chieftains 
.rom  the  tribes  on  the  other  side  of  the  Jordan  sup- 
plied his  droo23ing  followers  with  the  produce  of 
their  rich  pasture  lands.  "  Shohi  of  Ammon,  and 
Machir  of  Lo-dehar,  and  Barzillai  the  Gileadite  "' — 
these  brought,  besides  camp  utensils,  "  wheat,  and 
harley,  and  flour,  and  parched  corn,  and  beans,  and 
lentiles,  and  imrched  pidse,  and  honey,  and  butter, 
and,  sheep,  and  cheese  of  kine,  for  David,  and  for 
the  j)6ople  that  luere  with  him,  to  eat :  for  they  said. 
The  people  is  hungry,  and  iveary,  and  thirsty,  in  the 
luildernessy  (2  Sam.  xvii.  27-29.)  Glorious,  too,  Avas 
Nature's  temple  around  him.  Its  pillars  the  moun- 
tains— the  rocks  its  altar — the  balmy  air  its  incense 
■ — the  range  of  Lebanon,  rising  like  a  holy  of  holies, 
with  its  reverend  curtain  of  mist  and  cloud,  and 
snowy  Hermon  towering  in  solemn  grandeur  above 
all,  as  the  very  throne  of  God !  Yet  what  were  these 
compared  with  Jerusalem,  the  place  of  sacrifice,  tlie 


SABBATH  MEMORIES.  lOO 

resting-place  of  the  Shekiimh-glory,  the  city  of  so- 
lemnities, "  whither  the  tribes  go  up,  the  tribes  of  the 
Lord,  unto  the  testimony  of  Israel,  to  give  thanks 
unto  the  name  of  the  Lord  /"  (Ps.  cxxii.  4.)  This 
wounded  Hart  pants  for  the  water-brooks  of  Zion  ; 
Nature's  outer  sanctuary  had  no  glory  to  him,  ''  by 
reason  of  the  glory  that  excelleth."  The  God  who 
dwelleth  between  the  cherubim  had  "  chosen  Zion, 
and  desired  it  for  His  habitation,"  saying,  "  This  is 
my  rest  for  ever :  here  will  I  diuell ;  for  I  have 
destined  it.''  (Ps.  cxxxii.  13, 14.)  With  the  windows 
of  his  soul,  like  Daniel,  thrown  "  open  towards  Je- 
rusalem," and  his  inner  eye  wistfully  straining  to 
its  sunny  heights,  his  ear  catching  the  cadence  of 
its  festive  throng,  he  seems  to  say,  ''  If  I  forget  thee, 

0  Jerusalem,  let  my  right  hand  forget  her  cunning. 
If  I  do  not  remember  thee,  let  my  tongue  cleave  to 
the  roof  of  my  mouth  ;  if  I  prefer  not  Jerusalem 
above  my  chief  joy!'  (Ps.  cxxxvii.  5,  6.) 

Do  we  prize  the  blessing  of  our  Sabbaths  and  our 
sanctuaries  ?  can  we  say,  with  somewhat  of  the  em- 
phasis of  this  expatriated  King — "  One  thing  have 

1  desired  of  the  Lord,  that  will  I  seek  after  ;  that  I 
may  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  all  the  days  of 


110  SABBATH  MEMORIES. 

my  life,  to  behold  the  beauty  of  the  Lord,  and  to  in- 
qiiii^e  in  His  temple  T'  Alas  !  when  we  are  living 
in  the  enjoyment  of  blessings,  too  true  it  is  that 
we  have  seldom  a  vivid  sense  of  their  value.  He 
who  is  born  in  a  free  country,  to  whom  slavery  and 
oppression  are  strange  words,  seldom  realises  the 
priceless  boon  of  liberty.  But  let  him  suddenly  be 
made  the  victim  of  tyrant  thraldom  ;  let  him  feel 
the  irons  loading  his  body,  or  the  worse  than  mate- 
rial shackles  fettering  liberty  of  thought  and  action, 
and  how  will  the  strains  of  freedom  fall  like  hea- 
venly music  on  his  ear !  When  we  are  in  the 
enjoyment  of  health  and  strength,  how  little  do  we 
prize  the  boon.  But  let  us  be  hiid  on  a  bed  of 
languishing ;  let  the  sick  lamp  flicker  for  weeks  by 
the  sleepless  pillow;  let  the  frame  be  so  shattered 
that  even  the  light  tread  of  loving  footsteps 
across  the  room  quickens  the  beat  of  the  throb- 
bing brow.  In  waking  visions  of  these  lonely 
night-watches,  how  does  the  day  of  elastic  vigour  and 
unbrolcen  health  rise  before  us !  how  do  we  reproach 
ourselves  that  the  boon  Vv^as  so  long  ungratefully 
forgotten  and  unworthily  requited  !  A  parent 

little  knovrs  the  slrcivvtli   cf  the  tie  which  binds 


SABBATH  MEMORIES.  Ill 

him  to  his  child  during  the  brief  loan  of  a  loved 
existence.  He  gets  habituated  to  the  winning  ways, 
and  loving  words,  and  constant  companionship.  He 
comes  to  regard  that  little  life  as  part  of  himself. 
He  does  not  fully  realise  the  blessing,  because  he  has 
never  dreamt  of  the  possibility  of  its  removal.  But 
when  the  starthng  blow  comes, — when  death,  in 
cu  unexpected  moment,  has  severed  the  tie, — when 
ills  eye  lights  on  the  emjDty  chair  or  the  unused  toy, 
— when  the  joyous  footfall  and  artless  i^rattling  are 
licard  no  more, — then  comes  he  to  gauge  all  the 
depth  and  intensity  of  his  affection,  and  to  feel  how 
tenderly  (too  tenderly  !)  that  idol  was  enshrined  in 
Ids  heart  of  hearts  ! 

So  it  is  with  religious  privileges.  In  such  a  land 
as  our  own,  in  which,  from  our  earliest  infancy,  we 
have  been  accustomed  to  a  hallowed  Sabbath,  an 
open  sanctuary,  an  unclasped  and  nnforbidden  Bible, 
v/e  do  not  fully  estimate  the  priceless  value  of  the 
spiritual  blessings  bequeathed  to  ns,  because  never 
have  we  felt  the  loss  or  the  want  of  them.  But  go  to 
some  land  of  heathenism,  where  the  exiled  child  of 
a  British  Christian  home  finds  neither  minister  nor 
House  of  God.     Go  to  the  thousands  who  have  be- 


112  SABBATH  MEMORIES. 

taken  themselves  to  a  voluntary  exile  amid  American 
forests  or  Australian  pastures.  Or  go  to  the  lands 
of  apostate  Christendom,  where  the  Bible  is  a  sealed 
book,  and  religious  liberty  is  an  empty  name  ;  where 
souls  thirsting  for  the  living  stream  are  compelled  to 
drink  from  some  adulterated  cistern.  Alas !  many 
in  such  circumstances  are  content  to  sink  into  a 
listless  indifference  ;  cold  and  lukewarm  at  home, 
they  are  too  ready  to  lapse  into  the  chill  of  spiritual 
death  abroad.  But  there  are  others  who  have  not 
so  readily  obliterated  the  holiest  records  of  the  past. 
Ask  many  tired  and  jaded  emigrants,  conscious  of 
nobler  aspirations  than  this  world  can  meet,  what 
recollections,  more  hallowed  than  others,  linger  on 
their  spirits  ?  They  will  tell  you  it  is  the  memory 
of  the  Sabbath  rest  and  the  Sabbath  sanctuary , 
when,  at  the  summons  of  the  village  bell,  mountain 
and  glen  and  hamlet  poured  forth  their  multitudes 
to  the  house  of  God;  seated  wherein,  the  burdens  and 
anxieties,  the  cares  and  disquietudes  of  the  work-day 
\vorld  were  hushed  and  set  aside,  and  in  listening  to 
the  words  of  everlasting  life,  sorrows  were  soothed, 
faith  was  revived,  and  hope  brightened.  "  0  God," 
their   cry    is,    "  our  flesh   longeth  for   thee   in   a 


SABBATH  MEMOKIES.  113 

dry  and  thirsty  land,  where  no  water  is  ;  to  see  Thy 
poiver  and  Thy  glory,  so  as  tue  have  seen  Thee  in  the 
sanctuary."  * 

Let  us  seek  to  prize  our  means  of  grace 
while  we  have  them.  In  a  country  which  is  the 
reputed  palladium  of  liberty; — where  the  great- 
est of  all  liberty,  the  liberty  of  the  truth,  has 
been  purchased  by  the  blood  of  our  fathers, — the 
time,  we  trust,  with  God's  help,  may  never  come 
when  these  bulwarks  will  be  overthrown — when  our 
sanctuaries  will  be  closed — our  Bibles  proscribed 
— our  Sabbaths  blotted  from  the  statute-book — and 
bigotry,  in  league  with  rampant  infidelity,  again 
forge  the  chain  and  rear  the  dungeon.  But  remem- 
ber, that  j)rotracted  sickness  or  disease  may  at  any 
time  overtake  us,  and  debar  us  from  the  precious 
blessings  of  the  public  sanctuary.  Yes !  I  say  the 
public  sanctuary.  God's  appointed  ordinances  can 
never  be  superseded  or  rendered  obsolete  by  human 
substitutes.  Some  may  urge  that  books  now-a-days 
are  better  than  any  preaching ; — that  the  press  is 
more  potent  and  eloquent  than  any  living  voice. 
But  church  or  pulpit  is  not  a  thing  of  man's  device. 

*  Psalm  Ixiii.  1,  2. 
H 


114«  SABBATH  MEMOKIES. 

It  is  a  divine  institute.  The  speaker  is  an  ambassa- 
dor in  his  Master's  name,  charged  with  a  vast  mission 
from  the  court  of  high  lieaven,  and  the  House  of 
God  is  the  appointed  audience-chamber.  God  does 
not,  indeed,  (nay,  far  from  it,)  forsake  "  the  dwellings 
of  Jacob."  The  lowliest  cottage-home  may  become  a 
Bethel,  with  a  ladder  of  love  set  between  earth  and 
heaven,  traversed  by  ministering  angels  !  The  se- 
cluded sick-chamber  may  become  a  Patmos,  bright 
with  manifestations  of  the  Eedeemer's  presence  and 
grace !  But,  nevertheless,  "  Thy  way,  0  God,  is  in 
the  sanctuary''  The  promise  remains,  "  I  will  make 
my  people  joyful  in  my  house  of  prayer ''  It  is  the 
solemn  "  trysting-place  " — the  pledged  ground  of 
covenant  intercommunion.  "Theee  /  luill  meet  luith 
thee,  and  commune  luith  thee  from  off  my  mercy- 
seat!''  "The  Lord  loveth  the  gates  of  Zionl" 
"  How  goodly  are  thy  tents,  0  Jacob,  and  thy 
tabernacles,  0  Israel  !  "  * 

Eeader,  let  me  ask,  How  stands  it  with  you  ?  Are 
you  conscious  of  a  reverential  regard  and  attach- 
ment to  God's  holy  place  ?  Does  the  return  of  the 
Sabbath  awake  in  your  heart  the  old  melody  of  this 

*  Ex.  XXV.  22 ;  Psalm  Ixxxvii.  2 ;  Numb.  xxiv.  5. 


SABBATH  MEMORIES.  115 

sweet  singer  of  Israel, — "  This  is  the  day  which  the 
Lord  hath  made ;  we  will  rejoice  and  he  glad  in 
it  V  *  Do  you  go  to  the  solemn  assembly,  not  to  hear 
the  messenger  but  the  message  ; — not  to  pay  hom- 
age to  a  piece  of  dust,  (the  vilest  and  most  degraded 
form  of  idolatry,)  but  feeling  yourself  a  beggar  in 
the  sight  of  God,  with  a  soul  to  save,  and  an  eternity 
to  provide  for  ?  Do  you  approach  it  as  the  place 
of  prayer,  over  which  the  cloud  hovers  laden  with 
spiritual  blessings  ?  Do  you  go  to  it  as  "  the  house 
of  God,"  seeking  fellowship  and  communion  with 
the  Father  of  spirits  ;  desiring  that  all  its  services — 
its  devotions,  and  praises,  and  exhortations — may 
become  hallowed  magnets,  drawing  you  nearer  and 
binding  you  closer  to  the  mercy-seat  ?  Oh,  let  not 
the  boon  of  Sabbath  privileges  degenerate  into  an 
empty  form,  the  mere  pageant  of  custom.  Let  the 
Sabbath  hours  be  sacredly  kept.  Let  their  lessons 
be  sacredly  treasured.  Let  their  close  find  you  a  Sab- 
bath-day's j  ourney  nearer  heaven.  Let  their  hallowed 
fragrance  follow  you  through  the  week.  Let  them 
be  landmarks  in  the  pilgrimage  ;  towering  behind  you 
the  further  you  go — like  Alp  piled  on  Alp,  flushed 

*  Psalm  cxviii.  24. 


116  SABBATH  MEMORIES. 

with  roseate  liglit,  guiding  and  cheering  you  when 
low  down  in  the  valleys  of  trial  and  sorrow,  and  when 
called  to  descend  the  last  and  gloomiest  Valley  of  all. 
David  is  mourning,  in  the  words  which  have  given 
rise  to  these  thoughts,  over  his  altered  Sabbath  joys. 
It  may  be  there  are  some  reading  these  pages,  who, 
though  they  know  nothing  like  him  of  literal  exile 
and  banishment  from  the  sanctuary,  may  yet  be 
able  painfully  to  participate  in  his  feelings  !  They 
are  seated,  Sabbath  after  Sabbath,  in  their  pews ; 
their  Bibles  are  in  their  hands — the  living  words  of 
the  preacher  are  sounding  in  their  ears  ;  but  their 
experience  may  be  best  interpreted  by  the  language 
of  the  Christian  poet : — 

"  Where  is  the  blessedness  I  knew 
When  first  I  saw  the  Lord  ? 
Where  is  the  soul-refreshing  view 
Of  Jesus  and  His  Word  ? 

"  How  blest  the  hours  I  once  enjoy 'd  ! 
How  sweet  their  memory  still ! 
But  they  have  left  an  aching  void 
The  world  can  never  fill" 

Memory  can  travel  back  on  Sabbaths  and  commu- 
nion seasons  when  a  sunshine  of  holy  joy  irradiated 
their  spirits ;  when  their  Sabbath  was  one  hallowed 
Emmaus-journey  ; — they,  during  its  sanctuary-hours, 


SABBATH  MEMOEIES.  117 

travelling  side  by  side  with  Jesus,  and  He  causing 
their  hearts,  as  He  did  those  of  the  disciples  of  old, 
to  "  burn  within  them/'  They  were  wont  to  come 
and  depart,  saying,  "  This  is  none  other  than  the 
house  of  God ;  this  is  the  gate  of  heaven"  Now 
they  feel  that  all  is  sorrowfully  altered.  They  have 
comparatively  no  joy,  as  once  they  had,  when  the 
Sabbath  morning  dawns.  When  they  seat  them- 
selves in  church,  there  is  no  fervour  in  their  praises 
— no  earnestness  in  their  prayers — no  childlike 
teachableness  in  hearinoj.  There  is  more  criticisino; 
of  the  preacher  than  worshipping  God.  There  is  no 
living  flame  on  the  heart-altar  ;  their  befitting  ex- 
clamation is  that  of  the  prophet,  "  My  leanness  I 
my  leanness  ! "  They  are  ready,  in  the  bitterness 
of  their  spirits,  to  say,  "  When  I  remember  these 
things,  my  soul  is  poured  out  luithin  me." 

Sad  it  is  to  have  no  meat ;  but  sad,  too,  when 
we  have  food  and  cannot  enjoy  it!  Sad  it  is,  as 
exiles  in  a  strange  land,  to  have  no  Sabbath- 
gates  flung  open  to  us,  and  no  Sabbath-bells  to 
welcome  the  day  of  God ;  but  sadder  still  to  have 
these  solemn  chimes  within  hearing ; — to  have  our 
sanctuaries  open,  and  faithful  ministers  proclaiming 


118  SABBATH  MEMORIES. 

the  words  of  eternal  life,  and  yet  to  listen  with  the 
adder's  ear ; — to  listen  as  the  dead  in  our  church- 
yards listen  to  the  tears  and  laments  of  the  living ! 

What  should  be  done  hi  such  a  case  as  this? 
Trace  the  muddy  and  turgid  stream  to  its  source. 
Discover  what  earthly  clouds  are  dimming  the 
spiritual  firmament,  and  hiding  the  shinings  of  the 
Divine  countenance.  Sin,  in  some  shape  or  other, 
must  be  the  fruitful  cause.  It  may  be  some  posi- 
tive and  persevered-in  transgression;  indulgence  in 
which,  shuts  up  the  avenues  of  prayer,  and  denies 
all  access  to  the  mercy-seat.  Or  it  may  be  some 
no  less  culpable  sin  of  omission.  That  mercy-seat 
may  have  become  unfrequented  ;  the  rank  grass  may 
be  waving  over  its  once  beaten  foot-road ;  the  altar- 
fire  languishing  in  the  closet,  must  necessarily 
languish  in  the  sanctuary  too.  How  can  the  House 
of  God  be  now  fragrant  with  blessing,  if  the  life  is 
spent  in  guilty  estrangement  from  Him  I  Keligion 
cannot  be  worn  as  a  Sabbath  garment,  if  garments 
soiled  with  sin  be  worn  throughout  the  week. 

Self-exile  from  the  joys  of  the  sanctuary  !  return 
henceforth  to  God.  If  it  be  positive  sin  which  is 
marrinir  former  blessedness,  cast  out  the  troubler  in 


SABBATH  MEMOEIES.  119 

Israel  If  it  be  duties  omitted,  or  perfunctorily  dis- 
charged, return  to  former  earnest-mindedness.  Cul- 
tivate more  filial  nearness  to  the  Hearer  of  prayer. 
Seek,  on  your  bended  knees,  to  obtain  more  tender- 
ness of  conscience  regarding  sin  ; — to  have  more 
longing  aspirations  after  the  beauties  of  holiness. 

And  delay  not  the  return.  By  doing  so,  the 
growing  languor  and  listlessness  which  is  creeping 
over  you,  may  settle  into  positive  disrelish  of  God's 
house.  Imitate  the  example  of  the  Spouse  in  the 
Canticles,  who,  in  mourning  over  similar  spiritual  de- 
clension, resolves  on  an  instantaneous  seeking  of  the 
forfeited  presence  of  her  Lord.  "  Tell  me,  0  thou 
ivhorn  my  soul  loveth,  luhere  thou  feedest,  where  thou 
makest  thy  flock  to  rest  at  noon :  for  luhy  should  I  be 
as  one  that  turneth  aside  by  the  flocks  of  thy  com- 
panions?"* Go  with  the  words  which  this  exile  of 
Gilead  employs  in  the  sequel  to  this  Psalm,  written  on 
the  same  occasion — "  0  send  out  Thy  light  and  Thy 
truth  :  let  them  lead  me  ;  let  them  bring  me  unto  Thy 
holy  hill,  and  to  Thy  tabernacles.  Then  ivill  I  go 
unto  the  altar  of  God,  unto  God  my  exceeding  joy.'' f 

Yes  !  go,  and  prove  what  the  God  of  the  sanctuary 
can  do  in  the  fulfilment  of  His  own  promise.     He 

*  Sol.  Song  i.  7.  t  Psalm  xliii.  3,  4. 


120  SABBATH  MEMOEIES. 

seems  now  to  be  saying,  "Put  me  to  the  test/' 
''Prove  me  now  herewith,  if  I  tuill  not  open  you 
the  luindows  of  heaven,  and  pour  you  out  a 
blessing,  that  there  shall  not  be  room  enough  to 
receive  it.''*  Every  cliurcii  is  a  Peniel,  where  God 
meets  His  people,  as  He  met  the  patriarch  of  old 
at  the  brook  Jabbok.  Go  and  see  what  may  be 
effected  by  one  lowly,  hmnble,  seeking  soul — some 
wrestling  Jacob,  who,  like  "a  Prince/'  has  "power 
with  God,  and  prevails  ! ''  The  lowliest  tabernacle 
on  earth  is  glorified  as  being  the  House  of  God — 
the  dweUing-place  of  Omnipotence  and  Love — the 
hallowed  "  home,''  where  a  loving  Father  waits  to 
dispense  to  His  children  the  garnered  riches  of  His 
grace!  The  time  may  come  when  the  holy  and 
beautiful  sanctuary  where  we  worship  may  become 
a  heap  of  ruins.  The  fire  may  lay  it  in  ashes — the 
hand  of  man  may  raze  it — the  slower  but  surer  hand 
of  time  may  corrode  its  walls  and  crumble  its  solid 
masonry  stone  by  stone ;  but  as  sure  as  it  is  God's 
own  appointed  treasure-house  of  spiritual  mercies, 
may  we  not  believe  that  there  will  be  deathless 
spirits  who  will  be  able  to  point  to  it  in  connexion 
with  imperishable  memories, — "  buildings  of  God," 

*  Mai.  iii.  10. 


SABBATH  MEMOKIES.  121 

"  eternal  in  the  heavens,"  beyond  the  reach  of  human 
violence,  and  wasting  elements,  and  corroding  years ! 
Does  not  the  promise  stand  unrepealed  in  this  Bible; 
— let  it  ever  be  the  inscription  on  our  temples  of 
worship,—'^  0/ZiON  it  shall  he  said,  This  and  that 
man  luas  horn  in  her;  and  the  Highest  himself  shall 
establish  her.  The  Lord  shall  count,  when  He  lurit- 
eth  up  the  people,  that  this  man  was  horn  there''  * 

Oh  that  ours  may  at  last  be  the  blessedness  of 
that  better  Church  above,  which  knows  no  banish- 
ment, no  exile,  no  languor,  no  weariness  ; — where 
''  the  holy-day"  is  an  eternal  Sabbath  ;— the  festive 
throng,  "a  multitude  which  no  man  can  number" — 
the  voice  of  joy  and  praise,  "  everlasting  songs  ;  " — 
where  God's  absence  can  never  be  deplored  ; — where 
He  who  now  tendeth  His  temple-lamps  on  earth, 
feeding  them  day  by  day  with  the  oil  of  His  grace, 
removing  the  rust  perpetually  gathering  over  them 
by  reason  of  their  contact  with  sin,  will,  with  the 
plenitude  of  His  own  presence,  supersede  all  earthly 
luminaries,  and  ordinances,  and  sanctuaries ; — for 
"  they  need  no  candle,  neither  light  of  the  sun,  for 
the  Lord  God  giveth  them  light,  and  they  shall 
reign  for  ever  and  ever  /" 

*  Psalm  Ixxxvii.  5,  6. 


VII. 

pope. 


"  "When  the  water-floods  of  grief 

Round  thy  helpless  head  shall  rise. 
When  there  seemeth  no  relief, 

Lift  thy  gaze  to  yonder  skies ; 
There  behold  how  radiantly 

Beams  the  star  of  Hope  divine ! 
Yesterday  it  shone  for  thee. 

And  to-day  it  still  shall  shine. 
Ask  no  aid  the  world  can  give. 
Looking  unto  Jesus,  live!" 

''  AATien  I  ask  the  question,  '  Why  art  thou  cast  down,  0  my 
Boul  ? '  I  am  ashamed  of  the  answer  that  must  be  returned.  What 
if  property,  ci'edit,  health,  friends  and  relatives  were  all  lost, 
thou  hast  a  Father,  a  friend,  an  advocate,  a  comforter,  a  mansion, 
a  treasure  in  heaven." — Bishop  Hall. 

«  IDbo  art  tf)ou  cast  boujn,  <0  mri  soul  ?  nnb  tobn  art  tfjou 
bisquictcd  in  mc?  ftope  tF)ou  \\\  ^otJ :  for  %  s{)a({  ^ct  praise 
f)im  for  i\)t  fetp  of  fjis  countenance."— Fcrse  5. 


vn. 

HOPE. 

Take  the  wings  from  a  bird,  and  it  is  the  most 
helpless  of  animals.  Bring  the  eagle  from  his  eyrie, 
and  rub  him  of  his  plumage,  and  he  who  an  hour 
before  was  soaring  monarch  of  the  sky,  is  more 
powerless  than  the  worm  crawling  at  his  side,  or 
than  the  bleating  lamb  that  trembled  and  cowered 
under  his  shadow. 

Such  was  David  now.  The  wounded  bird  of  Pa- 
radise flutters  in  the  dust.  The  taunting  cry  every- 
where assails  him,  "  Whe7^e  is  thy  God?"  The 
future  is  a  mournful  blank,  and  the  past  is  crowded 
with  joyous  and  happy  memories,  which  only  aggra- 
vate and  intensify  the  sorrows  of  the  present. 

But  though  soiled  and  mutilated,  the  wings  of 
faith  are  not  broken.  He  struggles  to  rise  from  his 
fall  In  the  verse  we  are  now  to  consider,  he  plumes 
];is  pinions  for  a  new  flight     We  found  him  a  short 


124  HOPE. 

time  before,  making  his  tears  a  microscopic  lens, 
looking  through  them  into  the  depths  of  his  own 
sorrowing  and  sinning  heart.  So  long  as  he  does 
so,  there  is  ground  for  nothing  but  misgiving  and 
despair.  But  he  reverses  the  lens.  He  converts 
the  microscope  into  a  telescope.  In  self-oblivion, 
he  turns  the  prospect-glass  away  from  his  own 
troubles  and  sorrows,  his  fitful  frames  and  feelings, 
his  days  alike  of  sunshine  and  shade,  to  Him  who  is 
above  all  mutation  and  vicissitude.  In  this  position, 
with  his  eye  God-wards,  he  begins  to  interrogate  his 
own  spirit  as  to  the  unreasonableness  of  its  depres- 
sion. He  addres.ses  a  bold  remonstrance  to  guilty 
unbelief.  In  the  preceding  verse,  he  alluded  to  the 
dense  multitude — the  many  thousands  of  Israel — 
he  was  wont  to  lead  in  person  to  the  feasts  of  Zion. 
Nov/  he  is  alone  with  one  auditor — that  auditor  is 
HIMSELF.     "  1F%  art  thou  cast  down,  0  IVIY  soul  ? " 

And  what  is  his  antidote?  What  is  the  balm 
and  balsam  he  applies  to  his  wounded  spirit? 
"Hope  thou  in  God  T' 

Hope  I  Who  is  insensible  to  the  music  of  that 
word?  What  bosom  has  not  kindled  under  its 
utterance  ?     Poetry  has  sung  of  it ;  music  has  w^ar- 


HOPE.  125 

bled  it ;  oratory  has  lavished  on  it  its  bewitching 
strains.  Pagan  mythology,  in  her  vain  but  beauti- 
ful dreams,  said  that  when  all  other  divinities  fled 
from  the  world,  Hope,  with  her  elastic  step  and 
radiant  countenance  and  lustrous  attire,  lingered 
behind.  Hope  !  well  may  we  personify  thee,  lighting 
up  thy  altar-fires  in  this  dark  world,  and  dropping 
a  live  coal  into  many  desolate  hearts ;  gladdening 
the  sick-chamber  with  visions  of  returning  health; 
illuminating  with  rays,  brighter  than  the  sunbeam, 
the  captive's  cell ;  crowding  the  broken  slumbers  of 
the  soldier  by  his  bivouac-fire,  wdth  pictures  of  his 
sunny  home,  and  his  own  joyous  return.  Hope! 
drying  the  t^ar  on  the  cheek  of  woe  !  As  the  black 
clouds  of  sorrow  break  and  fall  to  the  earth,  arching 
the  descending  drops  with  thine  own  beauteous 
rainbow  !  Ay,  more,  standing  with  thy  lamp  in 
thy  hand  by  the  gloomy  realms  of  Hades,  kindling 
thy  torch  at  Nature's  funeral  pile,  and  opening 
vistas  through  the  gates  of  glory  ! 

If  Hope,  even  with  reference  to  present  and  finite 
things,  be  an  emotion  so  joyous, — if  uninspired 
poelry  can  sing  so  sweetly  of  its  delights,  vmat 
must  be  the  believer  s  hopo,  tlie  hope  wliich  has  God 


126  HOPE. 

for  its  object,  and  heaven  its  consummation  ?  How 
sweet  that  strain  must  have  sounded  from  the  lips 
of  the  exile  Psalmist  amid  these  glens  of  Gilead ! 
A  moment  before,  bis  sky  is  dark  and  troubled,  but 
blue  openings  begin  once  more  to  tremble  through 
the  clouds.  The  mists  have  been  hanodnoj  dense 
and  thick,  hidino;  out  the  water-brooks.  But  now 
the  sun  shines.  They  rise  and  circle  in  wreaths  of 
fantastic  vapour,  disclosing  to  the  wounded  Hart 
"the  springs  in  the  valleys  which  run  among  the 
hills ;  Vvdiich  give  drink  to  every  beast  in  the  field, 
and  where  the  v/ild  asses  quench  their  thirst."  The 
wilderness  has  become  once  more  "  a  pool  of  water, 
and  the  dry  land  springs  of  water."  Eebuking  his 
unworthy  tears,  Faith  once  more  takes  down  her 
harp,  and  thus  wakes  its  melodies, — "/  wait  for  the 
Lord,  my  soul  doth  tuait,  and  in  His  luord  do  I 
HOPE."     ''Let  Israel  hope  in  the  Lord."*' 

And  is  it  not  well  for  us  from  time  to  time  to 
open  the  gates  of  our  own  souls,  and  hold  a  similar 
consistory? — to  make  solemn  inquisition  with  our 
hearts  in  their  seasons  of  trouble  and  disquietude  ? 

"  Why  art  thou  cast  down  ?  "     Is  it  outward  trial 

*  Psalm  cxxx.  5,  7. 


HOPE.  127 

that  assails  thee?  Has  calamity  abridged  thy 
earthly  comforts?  Have  the  golden  heaps  then 
mayest  have  been  a  lifetime  in  amassing,  dissolved 
like  a  snow-wreath ; — the  waxen  wings  of  capri- 
cious fortune,  when  thou  wast  soaring  highest, 
melting  like  those  of  fabled  Icarus  of  old,  and 
bringing  thee  helpless  to  the  ground?  Or  is  it 
sickness  that  has  dulled  thine  eye,  paralysed  thy 
limb,  and  ploughed  its  furrows  on  thy  cheek ;  shut- 
ting out  from  thee  the  din  of  a  busy  world,  and 
chaining  thee  down  to  a  couch  of  languishing?  Or 
is  it  the  treachery  of  thy  trusted  friend  that  has 
wounded  thee  ;  blighting  thine  affections,  crushing 
thy  hopes,  dashing  thy  cup  of  earthly  bliss  to  the 
ground  ?  Or  is  it  bereavement  that  has  made  gaps 
in  thy  loved  circle  ;  torn  away  the  fixtures  which 
gave  thy  dvv'elling  and  life  itself  all  its  gladness  and 

joy? 

''  Hope  tliou  in  God."  The  creature  has  perished. 
God  is  imperishable !  Thou  mayest  be  saying  in 
the  bitterness  of  thy  spirit,  "All  these  things  are 
against  me  ;  "  there  may  be  no  gleam  of  light  in 
the  tempest,  no  apparent  reason  for  the  dark  dis- 
pensation ;  you  feel  it  is  with  stammering  lips  and 


128  HOPE. 

a  misgiving  heart  you  give  utterance  to  the  reluc- 
tant word,  ''Thy  will  be  done."  But,  ''My  soul, 
luait  thou  only  upon  God;"  (or,  as  Calvin  translates 
this,  "Be  silent  before  God;")  "foi^  my  expectation 
is  frotn  Himy^  "  Commit  also  thy  luay  unto  the 
Lord,  and  He  shall  bring  it  to  pass"-\'  Here  is 
the  province  of  faith, — implicit  trust  in  dark  deal- 
ings. God  brings  His  people  into  straits ;  sends 
often  what  is  baffling  and  unaccountable,  to  lead 
them  devoutly  to  say,  "  Though  He  slay  me,  yet  will 
I  trust  in  Him."  Oh  !  beautiful  is  it  thus  to  see 
Hope  sittmg,  like  the  sea-bird,  calmly  on  the  crested 
wave.  While  others  (strangers  to  the  peace  of  the 
gospel)  are  beating  their  breasts  in  tumultuous 
grief,  indulging  in  wild  paroxysms  of  rebellious 
sorrow, — beautiful  is  it  to  see  the  smitten  one  pro- 
strate at  the  feet  of  the  great  Chastenek,  saying 
through  tear-dro23s  of  resignation,  "Even  so,  Father  ; 
for  so  it  seems  good  in  Thy  sight  !  "  Believe  it,  in 
the  apparently  rough  voice  of  thy  God  there  is,  as 
in  the  case  of  Joseph  to  his  brethren,  tones  of  dis- 
sembled love,  disguised  utterances  of  affection  — 
*'  Although  thou  say  est  thou  canst  not  see  Him,  yet 

*■  Psalm  Ixii.  5.  f  Psalm  xxxvii.  5. 


HOPE.  1 29 

judgment  is  before  Him;  therefore  trust  thou  in 
Him.''* 

Besides,  this  lofty  grace  of  Hope  requires  stern 
discipline  to  bring  it  into  exercise,  and  to  develop 
its  noble  proportions.  It  is  the  child  of  tribulation. 
The  Apostle  thus  traces  its  pedigree — "  Tribulation 
worketh  patience;  and  patience,  experience ;  and 
experience,  Hope."*!-  As  there  can  be  no  rainbow 
in  the  natural  heavens  without  the  cloud,  so  Hope 
cannot  span  the  moral  firmament,  with  its  trium- 
phal arch,  without  the  clouds  of  tribulation.  As 
the  mother  eagle  is  said,  when  other  expedients  fail, 
to  put  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  her  nest  to  urge  hei 
young  brood  to  fly,  so  tribulation  is  the  thorn  which 
drives  Hope  to  the  wing. 

"A  nd  thou  shalt  yet  praise  Him.''  ''  Yet  !  "  We 
cannot  venture  to  scan  or  measure  that  word.  It 
may  be  after  many  bitter  tears  of  sorrow ; — it  may 
be  after  many  struggles  with  a  murmuring  heart ; — 
many  storms  may  still  sweep — many  hours  of  pining 
sickness  may  be  endured — many  a  rough  and  thorny 
path  may  have  to  be  trodden — the  harp  may  be 
muffled  in  sadness  to  the  last ;  but,  "  at  evemng-time 

•  Job  XXXV.  14.  -j"  Rom.  v.  3,  4. 


130  HOPE. 

it  shall  he  light."  There  is  a  season  infallibly 
coining  when  the  fettered  tongue  shall  be  loosed — 
the  lingering  cloud  dispelled — and  faith's  triumph 
complete  ;  when,  with  regard  to  the  very  dispensa- 
tion on  earth  which  caused  you  so  much  perplexity, 
you  will  be  able  triumphantly  to  say,  "7  knoiu" 
(yea,  I  see)  "  that  Thy  judgments  are  right,  and 
that  Thou  in  faithfuhiess  hast  afflicted  me."* 

But  your  de23ression  may  proceed  from  a  different 
cause.  It  may  not  be  outer  trial,  but  inward  sources 
of  disquietude,  which  are  causing  despondency  and 
doubt.  It  may  be  thoughts  regarding  your  spiritual 
condition.  Latent  corruption  in  a  partially  renewed 
and  sanctified  heart, — the  power  of  remaining  sin 
robbing  you  of  your  peace ;  at  times  leading  you 
to  question  whether  you  have  any  real  interest  in 
Gospel  blessings  and  Gospel  hopes — whether  you 
have  not  long  ago  quenched  the  strivings  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  by  your  impenitence  and  unbelief — 
whether  your  hopes  of  heaven  may  not  after  all  be 
a  shado^w^  delusive  dream.  "  Why  art  thou  cast 
down,  0  my  said  ? "  Who,  I  ask,  is  teaching  you 
to  breathe  out  these   penitential  sighings  after  a 

*  Psalm  cxix.  75. 


HOPE.  l;:i 

happiness  to  which  at  present  you  feel  you  are  a 
stranger  ?  Who  is  it  that  is  teaching  you  thus  to 
interrogate  yourself  about  the  erring  past?  It  is 
not  Natures  work.  If  there  be  within  you  one 
true  breathing  after  repentance  and  return,  that 
secret  aspiration  is  the  work  of  that  Spirit  who, 
although  He  will  not  always  strive,  is  hereby  shew- 
ing you  that  He  is  striving  still  with  yoii!  Think 
of  all  that  Grod  hath  done  for  you  in  the  past, 
and  is  still  willing  to  do.  After  the  gift  of  His 
Son, — after  such  an  expenditure  of  wrath  and  suf- 
f Cling  on  the  head  of  a  guiltless  Surety,  and  all  this 
that  a  way  of  reconciliation  might  be  opened  up, 
— think  how  dishonouring  it  would  be  to  distrust 
either  His  ability  or  His  willingness  to  save  you. 
Having  bestowed  this  greatest  boon.  He  will  "  with 
Him  also  freely  give  you  all  things."  Turn  away 
from  self, — sinful  self,  righteous  self,  condemned  self, 
— and  direct  your  believing  regards  to  Him  who  is 
"  the  Hope  of  Israel  and  the  Saviour  thereof"  Keep 
your  eye  steadily  fixed  on  the  infinite  grandeur  of 
His  finished  work  and  righteousness.  Look  to  Jesus 
and  believe  !  Look  to  Jesus  and  live  !  Nay,  more  ; 
as  you  look  to  Him,  hoist  your  sails,  and  buiret  man- 


1S2  HOPE. 

fully  the  sea  of  life.  Do  not  remain  in  the  haven  of 
distrust,  or  sleeping  on  your  shadows  in  inactive  re- 
pose, or  suffering  your  frames  and  feelings  to  pitch 
and  toss  on  one  another  like  vessels  idly  moored  in  a 
harbour.  The  religious  life  is  not  a  brooding  over 
emotions,  grazing  the  keel  of  faith  in  the  shallows,  or 
dragging  the  anchor  of  hope  through  the  oozy  tide- 
mud,  as  if  afraid  of  encountering  the  healthy  breeze. 
Away !  with  your  canvas  spread  to  the  gale,  trust- 
ing in  Him  who  rules  the  ragiiig  of  the  waters. 
The  safety  of  the  timid  bird  is  to  be  on  the  wing. 
If  its  haunt  be  near  the  ground, — if  it  fly  low, — it 
exposes  itself  to  the  fowler's  net  or  snare.  If  we 
remain  grovelling  on  the  low  ground  of  feeling 
and  emotion,  we  shall  find  ourselves  entangled  in 
a  thousand  meshes  of  doubt  and  despondency, 
temptation  and  unbelief.  "  But  surely  in  vain 
the  net  is  spread  in  the  sight  of  that  which 
HATH  A  WING  "  * — (marginal  reading).  "  Tliey  that 
wait  (or  hope)  in  the  Lord  sliall  renew  their 
strength;    they   shall   mount    up   ivith    ivings   as 

Hope  strengthens  and  invigorates  her  pinions  the 

*  Prov.  i.  17.  t  Isaiuh  xl.  31. 


HOPE.  jn3 

higher  she  soars.  She  gathers  courage  from  the 
past,  and  looks  with  eagle  eye  to  the  future.  "J 
know,''  says  Paul,  "in  whom  I  have  believed,''  (hoped, 
or  trusted,)  "  and  am  persuaded  that  He  is  able  to 
keep  that  luhich  I  have  committed  unto  Him.''  "J 
will  hope  continually,''  says  David,  "  and  will  yet 
'praise  Thee  more  and  more."  *  Again,  using  a  kin- 
dred emblem — the  bird  in  the  tempest  rushing  for 
shelter  under  the  mother  s  wing — "  Thou  hast  been 
my  help,  therefore  in  the  shadow  of  Tlty  tuings 
ivill  I  rejoice." '\ 

Can  such  be  said  of  the  world's  hopes?  Does 
experience  lead  to  repose  in  them  with  similar  im- 
plicit confidence  ?  Hope — the  hope  of  earthly  good, 
and  earthly  joy,  and  earthly  happiness — is  often  (too 
often)  the  mkage  of  life ;  the  bubble  on  the  stream, 
tinted  with  evanescent  glory,  a  flash  of  prismatic 
beauty,  and  then  gone  I  Multitudes  flock  to  this 
enchantress  in  her  cave,  and  though  mocked  and 
duped,  and  mocked  and  duped  again,  still  they 
haunt  her  oracle,  and  kiss  her  magic  wand.  She 
has  built  for  them  again  and  again  air  castles — 
turret  on  turret,  buttress  on  buttress,  gilded  dome 

*  Pcalra  Ixxi.  14.  f  Psalm  Ixiii.  7. 


134  HOPE. 

and  glittering  minaret,  and  these  have  melted  like 
frost-work.  But  yet  these  Babel  builders,  with  the 
same  avidity  as  ever,  return  to  the  work,  and  agam 
the  fantastic  battlements  are  piled  high  in  mid  air ! 

We  do  not  condemn  these  noble  aspirations  and 
struggles  of  this  noble  emotion  ; — far  from  it.  What 
would  the  world  be  without  Hope  ?  It  is  the  oil 
which  keeps  its  vast  machinery  in  play ;  it  is  the 
secret  of  all  success — the  incentive  to  all  enterprise. 
Annihilate  hope,  and  you  blot  out  a  sun  from  the 
firmament.  Annihilate  hope,  and  the  husbandman 
would  forsake  his  furrow,  the  physician  his  patient, 
the  merchant  his  traffic ;  the  student  would  quench 
his  midnight  lamp  ;  science  would  at  this  hour  have 
been  lisping  its  alphabet,  and  art  and  philosophy 
would  have  been  in  their  infancy. 

But  this  we  say,  that  if  so  much  is  perilled  on  a 
perad venture  ; — if  hope — the  ignis  fatuus  of  earth — 
be  so  greedily  pursued, — ^why  the  cold  and  careless 
indifference  regarding  "  the  hope  which  maketh  not 
ashamed" — the  hope  which  is  beyond  the  possi- 
bility of  disapjDointment ;  promises  which  never  fail ; 
words  which  rest  on  a  firmer  and  surer  basis  than 
tlie  foundations  of  earth  and  the  pillars  of  heaven  ? 


HOPE.  135 

Shall  the  disappointed  hewer  still  go  on  patching 
the  shivered  and  broken  earthly  cistern  ?  Shall  the 
man  of  science,  undeterred  by  successive  failures, 
pursue  his  unwearied  analysis  ?  Shall  the  merchant 
remain  unbaffled  by  adverse  markets  that  have 
drained  his  coffers,  or  successive  storms  that  have 
stranded  his  vessels  and  wrecked  his  cargo  ?  Shall 
the  fragments  of  a  brave  army  re-muster  at  the 
bugle  call,  and,  amid  dying  comrades  around  and  a 
shower  of  iron  hail  in  front,  return  with  undaunted 
hearts  to  the  charge  ?  Shall  pining  captives  in  a 
beleaguered  garrison,  pressed  by  famine,  decimated 
by  disease,  outnumbered  by  force — shall  these  light 
their  beacon-fires  of  hope,  and  sit  to  the  last  by 
their  smouldering  ashes,  struggling  on,  either  till 
calm  endurance  win  its  recompence,  or  until  hope 
and  life  expire  together?  And  shall  the  spiritual 
builder,  or  merchant,  or  soldier,  be  left  alone  coward 
and  faint-hearted,  and  give  way  to  unworthy  dis- 
trust, or  j)usillanimous  despair ;  and  that,  too,  when 
the  guarantees  of  their  hope  are  so  amazing? 
Listen  to  them  !  What  words  could  be  stronger  ? 
what  pledges  more  inviolable  ?  "In  hope  of  eternal 
life,  luhich  God,  that  cannot   lie,  promised  before 


136  HOPE. 

the  luorld  began.''*  "  Wherein  God,  ivilling  more 
abundantly  to  shew  unto  the  heirs  of  jyronnse  the 
immutahilitjj  of  His  counsel,  confirmed  it  by  an 
oath:  that  by  two  immutable  things,  in  luhicli  it 
was  impossible  for  God  to  lie,  we  might  have  a 
strong  consolation,  luho  have  fled  for  refuge  to  lay 
hold  upon  the  hope  set  before  us :  which  hope  ive 
have  as  an  anchor  of  the  soul,  both  sure  and 
steadfast,  and  luhich  enter eth  into  that  luithin  the 
veil"] 

Oil,  beautiful  figure  !  Hope  casts  its  anchor  into 
the  Eock  of  Ages  witliin  the  veil.  The  ship  may  be 
tossing  in  the  surging  sea  below,  but  a  chain  of  ever- 
lasting love  and  grace  links  it  to  the  throne  of  Gocl. 

I  love  to  walk  through  the  Bible,  and  gaze  on 
its  many  delineations  of  Hope.  It  is  a  picture- 
gallery  of  this  noble  grace !  As  the  great  painters  of 
the  middle  ages  clung  to  favourite  subjects,  so  Hope 
seems  ever  to  meet  us  in  some  form  or  other,  as  we 
tread  this  long  corridor  of  inspired  portraits. 

Here  is  the  earliest.  A  picture  liung  in  a  frame- 
work of  sorrow.  Its  subject  is  two  drooping  exiles 
going  with  tears  out  of  Eden.     But,  lo  I  a  tinge  of 

*  Titus  i.  2.  t  Heb.  vi.  17-20. 


HOPE.  137 

light  gleams  in  the  dark  sky,  and  the  angel  of  Hope 
drops  in  their  ears  healing  words  of  comfort. 

Here  is  another.  An  ark  is  tossed  in  a  ramns: 
deluge.  The  heavens  are  black  above.  Neither 
sun  nor  stars  appear.  All  around  is  a  waste  wilder- 
ness of  waters.  But,  lo !  by  the  window  of  the  ark 
a  weary  bird  is  seen  fluttering,  and  bearing  in  its 
mouth  an  olive  branch  of  Hope ! 

Here,  again,  is  a  picture  called  ''  The  Father  of  the 
Faithful.''  Its  subject  is  a  solitary  pilgrim,  one  of 
the  world's  gray  patriarchs.  He  is  treading  along 
amid  some  wild  pastoral  hills,  all  ignorant  of  his 
destiny ;  but  he  has  a  staff  in  his  hand — it  is  the 
staft'  of  Hope  ! 

Here  is  another.  It  is  an  Arabian  Emir,  once  a 
Prince  of  the  East,  sitting  amid  ashes,  the  victim  of 
a  loathsome  disease  ;  and,  worse  than  all,  of  Satanic 
power.  But  Hope  tunes  his  lips  to  sing,  "I  know 
that  my  Redeemer  liveth." 

Here  is  a  vast  exodus  of  six  hundred  thousand 
slaves  from  a  land  of  bondage,  separated  by  an 
inhospitable  desert  from  the  land  of  their  fathers ; 
but  Hope  silvers  the  edges  of  their  pillar  of  cloud, 
and  gleams  by  night  in  their  pillar  of  fire. 


138  HOPE. 

Here  is  another  picture,  of  exiled  patriots  seated 
by  the  waters  of  Babylon.  They  have  hung  their 
harps  on  the  willows.  They  refuse  to  sing  the 
Lord's  sono*  in  that  stranoje  land.  But  Hope  is 
represented  restoring  the  broken  strings ;  and  with 
their  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  yet  gHstening  with 
joyous  visions,  thus  they  pour  out  their  plaintive 
prayer — "  Turn  again  our  captivity,  0  Lord,  as  the 
streams  in  the  south.''* 

Time  would  fail  to  traverse  these  halls  and  walls 
of  ancient  memory.  Hope,  in  every  diversified 
form  and  attitude,  is  portrayed  in  the  history  of  the 
glorious  company  of  the  apostles,  the  goodly  fellow- 
ship of  prophets,  the  noble  army  of  martyrs, — ay, 
sustaining  too,  in  the  midst  of  His  sufferings  and 
sorrows,  the  very  bosom  of  the  Son  of  God — for 
was  it  not  hope  ("  the  joy  that  was  set  before  Him  ") 
that  made  Him  "endure  the  cross,  despising  the 
shame  V''\ 

And  what  Hope  has  proved  in  the  history  of  the 
Church  collectively,  it  is  in  the  life  of  every  individual 
believer.  By  nature  he  is  a  "  prisoner,"  but  "  a  pri- 
soner of  hope."  J  The  gospel  is  a ''gospel  of  hope."  Its 

*  Psalm  cxxvi.  4.  f  Heb.  xii.  2.  %  Zech.  ix.  12. 


HOPE.  139 

message  is  called  '^the  good  hope  through  graced* 
The  Gocl  of  the  gospel  is  called  "  tlie  God  of 
Ho2-)e!'-\  The  ''helmet  of  salvation"  is  the  helmet  of 
"  hope!'X  The  "  anchor  of  the  soul "  is  the  anchor 
of  "Aope."§  The  believer  ''rejoices  in  Aope,"||  and 
"abounds  in  hope.''^  Christ  is  in  him '' the  hope 
of  glory."**  Hope  peoples  to  him  the  battlements 
of  heaven  with  sainted  ones  in  the  spirit-land. 
He  "sorrows  not  as  others,  who  have  no  HOPE."tf 
When  death  comes,  Hope  smoothes  his  dying  pillow, 
wipes  the  damps  from  his  brow,  and  seals  bis  eyes. 
"Now,  Lord,  what  wait  I  for  t  my  hope  is  in 
Thee." 'II  Hope  stands  with  her  torch  over  his  grave, 
and  in  the  prospect  of  the  dust  returning  to  its  dust, 
he  says,  "My  flesh  shall  rest  in  hope."§§  Hope  is 
one  of  three  guardian  graces  that  conduct  him  to 
the  heavenly  gate.  Now  abideth  these  three,  "  Faith, 
Hope,  and  Love,"  and  if  it  be  added,  "  the  greatest  of 
these  is  Love,''  it  is  because  Hope  and  her  companion 
finish  their  mission  at  the  celestial  portal !  They 
proceed  no  farther,  they  go  back  to  the  world,  to  the 

*  2  Thess.  ii.  16.  f  Rom.  xv.  13.  J  1  Thess.  v.  8. 

§  Heb.  vi.  19.  H  Rom.  xii.  12.  t  Rom.  xv.  13. 

**  Col.  i.  27.  t+  1  Thess.  iv.  13.  XX  Ps.  xxxix.  7. 
§§  Ps.  xvi  9. 


140  HOPE. 

wrestlers  in  the  earthly  conflict.  Faith  returns  to 
her  drooping  hearts,  to  undo  heavy  burdens,  and 
to  let  the  oppressed  go  free.  Hope  goes  to  her 
dungeon  vaults,  her  beds  of  sickness,  her  chambers 
of  bereavement  and  sorrow.  To  take  Faith  or  Hope 
to  heaven,  would  be  to  take  the  Physician  to  the 
sound  man,  or  to  offer  crutches  to  the  strong,  or  to 
help  to  light  the  meridian  sun  with  a  tiny  candle ; 
Faith  is  then  changed  to  sight,  and  Hope  to  full 
fruition.  Love  alone  holds  on  her  infinite  mission. 
Faith  and  Hope  are  her  two  soaring  pinions.  She 
drops  them  as  she  enters  the  gates  of  glory.  The 
watcher  puts  out  his  beacon  when  the  sun  floods 
the  ocean — the  miner  puts  out  his  lamp  when  he 
ascends  to  the  earth.  Hopes  taper  light  is  un- 
needed  in  that  world  where  "  the  sun  shall  no  more 
go  down,  neither  for  brightness  shall  the  moon 
withdraw  itself,  but  where  the  Lord  our  God  shall 
be  an  everlasting  light,  and  the  days  of  our  mourn- 
ing shall  be  ended," 


VIIL 


«  All  scenes  alike  engaging  prove 
To  souls  impress'd  with  sacred  love  ? 
Where'er  they  dwell,  they  dwell  in  Thee ; 
In  heaven,  in  earth,  or  on  the  sea. 

"  To  me  remains  nor  place  nor  time ; 
My  country  is  in  every  clime ; 
I  can  be  calm  and  free  from  care 
On  any  shore,  since  God  is  there. 

"  While  place  we  seek,  or  place  wc  shun. 
The  soul  finds  happiness  in  none ; 
But,  with  a  God  to  guide  our  way, 
'Tis  equal  joy  to  go  or  stay. 

"  Could  I  be  cast  where  thou  art  not. 
That  were  indeed  a  dreadful  lot ; 
But  regions  none  remote  I  call, 
Secure  of  finding  God  in  all." 

— Cowper. 

"  It  is  profitable  for  Christians  to  be  often  calling  to  mind  the 
dealings  of  God  with  their  souls.  It  was  Paul's  accustomed 
manner,  and  that  when  tried  for  his  life,  even  to  open  before  his 
judges  the  manner  of  his  conversion.     He  would  think  of  that 


142  THE  HILL  MIZAR. 

day  and  that  hour  in  the  which  he  did  first  meet  with  grace,  for 
he  found  it  suppoi't  unto  him.  There  was  nothing  to  David  like 
Goliath's  sword.  The  very  sight  and  remembrance  of  that  did 
preach  forth  God's  deliverance  to  him.  Oh,  the  remembrance 
of  my  great  sins,  of  my  great  temptations,  and  of  my  great  fears 
for  perishing  for  ever.  They  bring  afresh  into  my  mind  the  re- 
membrance of  mercy  and  help — my  great  support  from  heaven, 
and  the  great  gi-ace  that  God  extendeth  to  such  a  wretch  as  I." — 
John,  Bunyan. 

"  €>  mn  45olr,  mn  POuT  is  cast  bottju  toirfiin  me :  t?)crcfore 
toiri  %  xiwmwhix  tbce  from  t\)Z  TanD  of  ^orDaii,  and  of  t&e  i^tx- 
monitcs,  ficm  tl;t  IjiH  M\3^i"— Verse  6. 


VIII. 
THE  HILL  MIZAR 

In  the  preceding  verse,  we  found  the  Psalmist  chid- 
ing his  soul  for  the  unreasonableness  of  its  depres- 
sion— calling  upon  it  to  exercise  hope  and  trust  in 
God,  under  the  assurance  that  he  would  "yet  praise 
Him  for  the  help  of  His  countenance/'' 

But  "  what  luill  ye  see  in  the  Shulamite  ?  "  An- 
other experience  testifies  afresh,  ''As  it  were  the 
company  of  two  armies."*  Hope  has  no  sooner 
risen  to  the  surface  than  despondency  returns.  The 
struggling  believer  threatens  to  sink.  The  wave  is 
again  beat  back.  His  soul  is  again  "  cast  down ! " 
But  one  word — an  old  monosyllable  of  comfort — is 
borne  on  the  refluent  billow,  "  0  MY  GoD !  "  This 
"  strong  swimmer  in  his  agony  "  seizes  hold  of  that 
never-failing  suj^port,  the  faithfulness  of  a  covenant- 
keeping  Jeliovah.  With  this  he  breasts  the  opposing 
tide,  and  will  assuredly  at  last  reach  the  shore. 
The  very  tribulations  that  are  casting  liim  down, — 
*  Sol.  Song  vi.  13. 


I4i4i  THE  HILL  MIZAR. 

threatening  to  submerge  him, — are  only  nerving  his 
spirit  for  bolder  feats ;  leading  him  to  value  more 
the  everlasting  arms  that  arc  lower  and  deeper  than 
the  darkest  wave. 

We  have  heard  of  a  bell,  set  in  a  lighthouse,  rung 
by  the  sweep  of  the  winds  and  the  dash  of  the  bil- 
lows. In  the  calm,  stormless  sea,  it  hung  mute  and 
motionless  ;  but  when  the  tempest  was  let  loose  and 
the  ocean  fretted,  the  benighted  seaman  was  warned 
by  its  chimes  ;  and  beating  hearts  ashore,  in  the  fish- 
erman's lonely  hut,  listened  to  its  ommous  music. 
We  read,  in  the  previous  verse,  of  the  lighthouse  of 
Eaith,  built  on  the  rock  of  Hope.  God  has  placed 
bells  there.  But  it  needs  the  storms  of  adversity 
to  blow  ere  they  are  heard.  In  the  calm  of  uninter- 
rupted prosperity,  they  are  silent  and  still.  But  the 
hurricane  arises.  The  sea  of  life  is  swept  with  tem- 
pest, and,  amid  the  thick  darkness,  they  ring  the  peal 
of  heavenly  confidence,  "  My  God,  my  God  ! " 

3[y  God  I  What  a  heritage  of  comfort  do  these 
words  contcin — in  aU  time  of  our  tribulation — in  all 
time  of  our  wealth — in  the  hour  of  death,  and  at  the 
day  of  judgment !  They  describe  the  great  Being  who 
fills  lieaven  with  His  glory,  as  the  covenant  portion 


THE  HILL  MIZAR.  145 

and  heritage  of  believers.  His  attributes  are  em- 
barked on  their  side ;  His  holiness  and  righteous- 
ness, and  justice  and  truth,  are  the  immutable 
guarantees  and  guardians  of  their  everlasting  well- 
being.  Hear  His  own  gracious  promise — "  /  will 
bring  the  third  part  througli  the  fire,  and  will  re- 
fine them  as  silver  is  refined,  and  will  try  them  as 
gold  is  tried :  they  shall  call  on  my  name,  and  I 
will  hear  them :  I  tvill  say,  It  is  my  i^eople  :  and 
they  shall  say,  The  Lord  is  my  God."^  Moreover, 
He  is  the  only  possession  which  is  theirs  absolutely. 
All  else  they  have,  is  in  the  shape  of  a  loan,  which 
they  receive  as  stewards.  Their  time,  their  talents, 
their  possessions,  their  friends,  are  only  leased  by 
them  from  the  Great  Proprietor  of  life  and  being. 
But  they  can  say  unreservedly,  "  The  Lord  is  my 
portion.''  ''God,  even  our  ow^N  God,  shall  bless 
lis.''  Ay,  and  we  are  told,  "  God  is  not  ashamed 
to  be  called  their  God."  f  "  The  name  of  the 
Lord  "  is  thus  ''  a  strong  tower  :  the  righteous  run- 
neth into  it,  and  is  safe."  J  That  salvation  pur- 
chased by  Jesus, — the  amazing  method  by  which 
every  attribute  of  the  Divine  nature  has  been  mag- 

*  Zech.  xiii.  9.  f  Hel).  xi.  16.  t  Trov.  xviii.  10. 

K 


]  46  THE  HILL  MIZAE. 

nified,  and  every  requirement  of  the  Divine  law 
has  been  met, — is  ''  for  walls  and  bulwarks."  The 
believer  not  only  can  lay  hold  on  higher  blessings — 
"the  good  hope  thro-ugh  grace,"  "glory,  honour, 
immortality,  eternal  life," — but  even  with  regard  to 
the  circumstantials  of  the  present,  the  appointments 
and  allotments  in  the  house  of  his  pilgrimage,  he 
can  feel  that  they  are  so  regulated  and  overruled  as 
best  to  promote  his  spiritual  interests  ;  and  that  "  all 
things  "  (yes,  "  all  things  ")  are  "  working  together 
for  his  good."  Take  then,  desponding  one !  the 
opening  words  of  David's  lamentation.  They  quiet 
all  apprehensions.  This  all-gracious  Being  who  gave 
His  own  Son  for  thee,  must  have  some  wise  reason 
in  such  discipline.  Oh,  confide  all  thy  perplexities, 
and  this  perplexity,  into  His  hands,  saying,  "/  am 
oppressed,  undertake  Thou  for  me!'  Who  can 
forget  that  it  was  this  same  monosyllable  of  comfort 
that  cheered  a  greater  Sufferer  at  a  more  awful  hour  ? 
The  two  most  memorable  spots  in  His  midnight  of 
agony, — Gethsemane  and  Calvary,  the  Garden  and 
the  Cross, — ^have  this  solitary  gleam  of  sunshine 
breaking  through  the  darkness,  "  0  JMY  Father  ! " 
"My  God,  my  God!" 


THE  HILL  ^IIZAR.  14?7 

Let  us  now  proceed  to  the  main  feature  in  this 
verse.  We  have  already  noted  how  the  exiled  King 
had  tried  to  reason  his  soul  out  of  its  depression 
by  the  exercise  of  Hope — by  looking  beyond  the 
shadows  of  the  present  to  a  brighter  future.  But 
the  torch  flickered  and  languished  in  his  hand.  He 
adopts  a  new  expedient.  Instead  of  looking  to  the 
future,  he  resolves  to  take  a  retrospective  survey; 
he  directs  his  eye  to  the  past.  As  often  at  even- 
tide, when  the  lower  valleys  are  in  shadow,  the 
mountain- tops  are  gilded  with  the  radiance  of  the 
setting  sun  ;  so  from  the  Valley  of  Humiliation, 
where  he  now  was,  he  looks  back  on  the  lofty 
memorials  of  God's  faithfulness.  He  "  lifts  his  eyes 
unto  the  hills,  from  whence  cometh  his  help." 
"  0  my  God,  I  will  remember  Thee  !  "  "  This  is 
my  infirmity,"  he  seems  to  say,  when  he  thinks  of 
the  weakness  of  his  faith,  and  the  fitfulness  of  his 
frames  and  feelings  :  "  but  I  will  remember  the 
years  of  the  right  hand  of  the  Most  High.  I  will 
remember  the  works  of  the  Lord ;  surely  I  will 
remember  Thy  wonders  of  old."*  With  this  key  he 
proceeds  again  to  open  the  door  of  Hope.     And  as 

*  Psalm  Ixxvii.  10,  11. 


148  THE  HILL  MIZAR. 

he  treads  the  valley  of  Aclior,  he  "  sings  there  as  in 
the  days  of  his  yoiitb."  * 

In  connexion  with  this  remembrance  of  his  God, 
David  alludes  to  some  well-known  places  in  his 
Kingdom — "  The  land  of  Jordan,  and  the  Hermon- 
ites,  and  the  hill  Mizar!' 

What  means  he  by  this  reference  ?  His  language 
may  admit  of  a  twofold  interpretation. 

1.  He  may  possibly  refer  to  his  present  sojourn 
in  the  region  beyond  Jordan,  with  the  Hermon 
range  in  sight ;  and  which  had  this  peculiarity,  that 
it  was  bej^ond  the  old  boundary-line  of  the  Land  of 
Promise,  making  him  for  the  time,  "  an  alien  from 
the  commonwealth  of  Israel." 

AVe  know  from  a  passage  in  Joshua  (chap,  xxii.) 
how  sacredly  the  division  between  the  covenant 
people  and  the  neighbouring  tribes  was  preserved. 
The  latter  were  denominated  a  "possession  un- 
clean ;  "  the  former,  "  the  land  of  the  possession  of 
the  Lord,  ivherein  the  Lord's  tabernacle  is."  How 
bitter  must  it  have  been  to  a  patriotic  heart  like 
that  of  the  Psalmist,  thus  to  be  cut  off  (even 
though  for  a  brief  season)  from  all  participation  in 
♦  Hosea  ii.  15. 


THE  HILL  MIZAE.  149 

national  and  sanctuary  blessings, — to  stand  outside 
the  land  trodden  by  the  footsteps  of  angels,  con- 
secrated by  the  ashes  of  patriarchs,  and  over  which 
hovered  the  shadowing  wings  of  Jehovah  ! 

But  he  exults  in  the  persuasion  that  Israel's  God 
is  not  confined  to  lands  or  to  sanctuaries.  "/ 
will  remember  Thee,"  says  the  banished  monarch. 
'•'  Though  wandering  here  beyond  the  region  Thou 
hast  blest  with  Thy  favour,  I  will  not  cease  still  to  call 
Thee  and  claim  Thee  as  my  God,  and  to  recount 
all  the  manifold  tokens  of  Thy  mercy,  even  though 
it  be  from  *  the  land  of  Jordan,  and  of  the  Hermon- 
ites,  from  the  hill  Mizar.'  My  foes  may  drive  me 
from  my  home, — they  may  strip  me  of  my  regal 
glories, — they  may  make  me  the  butt  of  scorn,  the 
mark  for  their  arrows  ; — but  they  cannot  banish  me 
from  the  better  portion  and  heritage  I  have  in  Thy 
blessed  self !  " 

If  we  should  ever  be  in  circumstances  when,  like 
David,  we  are  denuded  of  the  means  of  grace — shut 
out  from  the  public  ministrations  of  the  sanctuary, 
— or,  what  is  more  common,  placed  in  a  disadvan- 
tageous position  for  spiritual  advancement ; — when 
our   situation    as  regards   the   world,   the  family, 


150  THE  HILL  MIZAR. 

business,  pursuits,  companions,  society,  is  such  as 
to  prove  detrimental  to  the  interests  of  our  souls, 
— let  us  still  ''rememher  God!''  Let  the  loss  of 
means,  and  privileges,  and  opportunities,  and  con- 
genial intercourse,  draw  us  nearer  the  Source  of  all 
knowledge,  and  peace,  and  true  joy.  If  the  star- 
light be  wanting,  let  us  prize  the  sunlight  more. 
If  the  streams  fail,  let  us  go  direct  to  the  fountain- 
head. 

Yes,  and  God  can  make  His  people  independent 
of  all  outward  circumstances.  In  the  court  of  an 
Ethiopian  Queen  there  was  a  believing  Treasurer. 
In  the  household  of  Nero  there  were  illustrious 
saints.  Down  in  the  depths  of  the  briny  ocean,  im- 
prisoned in  the  strangest  of  tombs,  a  disobedient 
prophet  "  remembered  God,''  and  his  prayer  was 
heard.  Joseph  was  torn  away  from  the  land  of 
his  birth,  and  the  home  where  his  piety  had  been 
nurtured,  but  in  Egypt  "  the  Lord  luas  ivith  Joseph" 
"  At  my  first  answer,"  says  the  apostle  of  the  Gen- 
tiles, "no  man  stood  with  me,  but  all  men  forsook 
me.  .  .  .  Notwithstanding,  the  Loed  stood  by  me, 
and  strengthened  me."  Comforting  thought !  that 
the  true  Sanctuary,  of  which  all  earthly  ones  are 


THE  HILL  MIZAR.  1.51 

the  shadowy  type,  is  ever  near :  God  Himself,  the 
refuge  and  dwelling-place  of  His  people  to  all  gene- 
rations, and  who,  wherever  we  are,  can  turn  the 
place  of  forlorn  exile  —  our  ''land  of  Jordan,  the 
Hermonites,  the  hill  Mizar" — into  scenes  bright 
with  manifestations  of  His  covenant  love. 

2.  But  the  references  to  these  several  localities 
may  admit  of  a  different  interpretation.  David 
may  be  reverting  to  some  memorable  epochs  in  his 
past  history  —  some  green  spots  in  the  waste  of 
memory,  where  he  enjoyed  peculiar  tokens  of  God's 
grace  and  presence. 

We  spoke  in  last  chapter  of  Hopes  picture- 
gallery.  Memory  has  one,  stranger  still  —  filled 
with  landscapes  of  imperishable  interest!  Who 
has  not  such  a  gallery  in  his  own  soul?  Let 
Memory  w^ithdraw  her  folding-doors — and  what  do 
we  see  ?  The  old  homes  of  cherished  infancy  may 
be  the  first  to  crowd  the  walls  and  arrest  the  eye  ; — 
scenes  of  life's  bright  morning,  the  sun  tipping 
with  his  rising  beam  the  dim  mountain-heights  of 
the  future!  In  the  foreground,  there  is  the  mur- 
muring brook   by  which   we  wandered,   and  the 


152    /    /  THE  HILL  MIZAR. 

umbrageous  tree  under  which  we  sat ; — countenances 
glowing  with  smiles  are  haunting  every  walk  and 
greeting  us  at  every  turn — the  ringing  laugh  of 
childhood  at  some — venerable  forms  bending  at 
others. 

But  more  hallowed  remembrances  crowd  the  can- 
vas. Ebenezers  and  Bethel-stones  appear  conspi- 
cuous in  the  distance — mute  and  silent  memorials, 
amid  the  gray  mists  of  the  past,  which  read  a  lesson 
of  encouragement  and  comfort  in  a  desponding  and 
sorrowful  present. 

David  thus  trod  the  corridors  of  memory.  When 
the  future  was  dark  and  lowermg,  he  surveys  picture 
by  picture,  scene  by  scene,  along  the  chequered 
gallery  of  his  eventful  life !  With  Jordan  at  his 
feet,  the  Hermon  range  in  the  distance,  and  some 
Mizar — some  "  little  hill "  (as  the  word  means) 
— rising  conspicuous  in  view,  he  dwells  on  various 
signal  instances  of  God's  goodness  and  mercy  in 
connexion  with  these  localities — "  I  will  remember 
Thee"  (as  it  may  be  rendered)  ''regarding  the 
land  of  Jordan,  and  of  the  Hermonites,  from  the 
hill  Mizar."* 

*  "  It  is  said  by  Uiose  who  have  visited  those  parts,  that  one 


THE  HILL  MIZAR.  1  53 

We   know   the   other  names  to  which  he  here 
adverts,    but  what   is  this    "HILL  MiZAR?"     The 
answer  can  only  be  conjectural.     It  may  be  some 
small  mountain  eminence  among  the  hills  of  Judah 
associated  with  the  experiences  of  his  earlier  days. 
May  not  memory  possibly  have  travelled  back  to 
the  old  home  and  valleys  of  Bethlehem,  and  lighted 
perchance  on   the  green  slope  where  the  youthful 
champion  measured  his  prowess  with  the  lion  and 
the  bear.    As  the  soldier  reverts  with  lively  interest 
to    his    first   battle-field,    so   may   not   the   young 
£Lepherd-Hero  have  loved  to  dwell  on  this  Mizar 
hill,  where  the  God  he  served  gave  him  the  earnest 
of  more  momentous  triumphs  ? 

Or,   to  make    one  other  surmise,  may   it  more 

remarkable  effect  produced  is  the  changed  aspect  of  the  hills  of 
Judah  and  Ephraim.  Their  monotonous  character  is  lost ;  and 
the  range,  when  seen  as  a  whole,  is  in  the  highest  degree  diversi- 
fied and  impressive.  And  the  wide  openings  in  the  western 
hills,  as  they  ascend  from  the  Jordan  valley,  give  such  extensive 
glimpses  into  the  heart  of  the  country,  that  not  merely  the 
general  range,  but  particular  localities  can  be  discovered  with 
ease.  .  .  .  From  the  castle  of  Rubad,  north  of  the  Jabbok, 
are  distinctly  visible  Lebanon,  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  Esdraelon  in 
its  full  extent,  Carmel,  the  Mediterranean,  and  the  whole  range 
of  Judah  and  Ephraim.  '  It  is  the  finest  view,'  to  use  the 
words  of  another  traveller,  '  that  I  ever  saw  in  any  part  of  the 
world.'" — Stanley's  Sinai  and  Palestine,  p.  318. 


154'  THE  HILL  MIZAR. 

likely  refer  to  "  the  little  hill"  he  most  loved, — the 
home  of  his  thoughts,  the  earthly  centre  of  his 
affections,  the  glory  of  his  kingdom,  the  joy  of  the 
whole  earth — "Mount  Zion,  on  the  sides  of  the 
north,  the  city  of  the  great  King  ? "  *  We  find 
Zion  spoken  of  by  him  emphatically  as  "  a  little 
hill.'  In  one  of  the  sublimest  of  all  his  Psalms,  he 
represents  the  other  loftier  mountains  of  Palestine, 
— Bashan  with  its  forests  of  oak,  Carmel  with  its 
oTOves  of  terebinth,  Lebanon  with  its  cedar-clad 
summits, — as  looking  with  envy  at  the  tiny  eminence 
amid  the  wilds  of  Judah  which  God  had  chosen  as 
the  place  of  His  sanctuary :  "  VHiy  look  ye  luith 
envy,  ye  high  hills?  this  is  the  hill  luhere  God 
desireth  to  dwell  in  ;  yen,  the  Lord  will  dwell  in  it 
for  ever."  •\-  Is  the  hypothesis  a  forced  or  unlikely 
one,  that,  in  this  his  season  of  sore  depression  and 
sorrow,  he  loved  to  linger  on  manifold  experiences 
of  God's  faithfulness  associated  with  Zion,  —  its 
tabernacle,  its  festivals,  its  joyous  multitudes — his 
own  palace,  that  crowned  its  rocky  heights,  where 
his  harp  was  oft  attuned  and  his  psalms  composed 
and  sung,  and  in  which  midnight  found  him  rising 

*  Psalra  xlviii.  2.  t  Psalm  Ixviii.  16. 


THE  HILL  MIZAE.  155 

and  giving  "  thanks  to  God  because  of  His  righteous 
judgments  ? "  In  the  mind  of  the  Sweet  Singer  of 
Israel,  might  not  "glorious  things"  have  been 
thought  as  well  as  "  spoken  of  thee,  0  city  of  God  ? " 

But,  after  all,  w^e  need  not  limit  the  interpretation 
to  any  special  locality.  The  speaker's  past  history, 
from  the  hour  when  he  was  taken  from  the  sheep- 
folds  till  now^  was  crowded  with  Mizars — hill-tops 
gleaming  in  the  rays  of  morning.  The  valley  of 
Elah,  the  w^ood  of  Ziph,  the  forest  of  Hareth,  the 
streets  of  Ziklag  *  the  caves  of  Adullam  and  Engedi, 

all  w^ould  recall  some  special  memorial  of  God's 

delivering  hand.  He  resolves  to  take  the  goodness 
and  mercy  vouchsafed  in  the  past,  as  pledges  that 
He  would  still  be  faithful  who  had  promised  to 
"David  His  servant,"  "My  faithfulness  and  my 
mercy  shall  be  with  him :  and  in  my  name  shall 
his  horn  be  exalted."t  "Thou  who  hast  delivered 
my  soul  from  death,  wdlt  not  thou  deliver  my  feet 
from  falling,  that  I  may  walk  before  God  in  the 
light  of  the  living  ?"+ 

The  saints  of  God,  in  every  age,  have  delighted  to 
dwell  on  thesa  memorable  spots  and  experiences  in 

♦  1  Sam.  XXX.  6.         f  Psalm  Ixxxix.  24.         :|:  Psalm  Ivi.  13. 


156  THE  HILL  MIZAE. 

their  past  pilgrimage.  Abraham  had  his  "hill 
Mizar"  between  Bethel  and  Hai.  "  There,"  we  read, 
*'  he  huilded  an  altar,  and  called  upon  the  name  of 
the  Lord"  *  On  his  return  from  Egypt  he  retraced 
his  steps  to  the  same  locality.  Why  ?  Because  it 
w^as  doubly  hallowed  to  him  now,  with  these  former 
experiences  of  God's  presence  and  love.  It  is 
specially  noted  that  "he  went  on  his  journeys  from 
the  south  even  to  Bethel,  unto  the  place  where  his 
tent  had  been  at  the  beginning,  between  Bethel  and 
Hai ;  unto  the  ])lace  of  the  altar,  which  he  had 
made  there  at  the  first :  and  there  he  called  on  the 
name  of  the  Lord."-f- 

JacolSs  "Mizar"  would  doubtless  be  his  ladder- 
steps  at  Bethel,  where  the  fugitive  wanderer  was 
gladdened  with  a  vision  of  angels,  and  the  voice  of  a 
reconciled  God.  Moses  would  think  of  his  "  Mizar" 
either  in  connexion  with  the  burning  bush  or  the 
cleft  of  the  rock,  or  the  Mount  of  Prayer  at  Re- 
phidim.  Isaiah's  "  Mizar"  would  be  the  vision  of 
the  Seraphim,  when  his  faithlessness  was  rebuked, 
and  confidence  in  God  restored.  Jeremiah  tells  us 
specially  of  his — some  memorable  spot  where  he  had 
•  Gen.  xii.  8.  f  Gen.  xiii  1-4. 


THE  HILL  MIZAR.  157 

a  peculiar  manifestation  of  God's  presence  and  grace. 
"  The  Lord  hath  appeared  o/old  u7ito  me,  saying, 
Yea,  I  have  loved  thee  with  an  everlasting  love : 
therefore  with  loving-kindness  have  I  drawn  thee.''  * 
Or  shall  we  look  to  the  New  Testament?  The 
Roman  Centurion  would  remember  as  his  Mizar- 
height,  the  spot  at  Capernaum  where  mingled  Omni- 
potence and  Love  uttered  the  healing  w^ord.  The 
Magdalene  would  remember  as  hers,  the  Pharisee's 
banquet-hall,  where  she  bathed  the  feet  of  her  Lord 
^yith  a  flood  of  penitential  tears.  The  Maniac  of 
Gadara  would  recall  as  his,  the  heights  around  Ti- 
berias, where  the  demon-throng  were  expelled,  and 
where  he  sat  calm  and  peaceful  at  the  feet  of  the 
Great  Restorer.  The  Woman  of  Samaria  would 
remember  as  hers,  the  well  of  Sychar,  where  her 
Pilgrim  Lord  led  her  from  the  earthly  to  the  eternal 
fountain.  Peter  would  remember  as  his,  the  early 
morn,  and  the  solitary  figure  on  Gennesaret's  shore. 
The  Sisters  of  Lazarus,  go  where  they  might, 
would  recall  as  their  hallowed  memorial-spot,  the 
home  and  the  graveyard  of  Bethany.  Paid  of 
Tarsus  would  ever  remember  as  his,  the  burning 

♦  Jer.  xxxi.  3. 


158  THE  HILL  MIZAE. 

plain  near  Damascus,  where  a  light,  brighter  than 
the  mid-day  sun,  brought  him  helpless  to  the  gromid, 
and  a  voice  of  mingled  severity  and  gentleness 
changed  the  persecutor  into  a  believer — the  lion 
into  a  lamb.  John,  the  beloved  disciple,  as  he 
trod  the  solitary  isle  of  his  banishment,  or  with  the 
trembling  footsteps  of  age  lingered  in  his  last 
home  at  Ephesus — John  would  recall  as  the  most 
sacred  and  hallowed  "Misar"  of  all,  the  gentle 
bosom  on  which  he  leant  at  supper  ! 

And  who  among  us  have  not  their  "  Mizars  "  still  ? 
It  has  often  been  said  that,  next  to  the  Bible,  there 
is  no  book  so  instructive  as  that  volume  which  all 
God's  people  carry  about  with  them — the  volume 
of  their  own  experience. 

That  is  my  earliest  and  fondest  "  Mizar,"  says  one, 
the  mother's  knee  where  I  first  lisped  my  Saviour's 
name,  and  heard  of  His  love.  Mine,  says  another, 
is  that  never-to-be-forgotten  sermon,  when  God's 
messenger  reasoned  of  righteousness,  temperance, 
and  a  judgment  to  come  ;  when  conviction  was  first 
flashed  on  my  torpid  mind,  and  peace  brought  to  my 
troubled  soul  1  Mine,  is  another's  testimony,  is  that 
bed  of  sickness  on  which  I  awoke  from  the  long  life- 


THE  HILL  MIZAR.  159 

dream  of  indifference,  and  gave  lieed  for  the  first 
time  to  the  things  which  belong  to  my  i^eace.  Mine, 
says  another,  is  that  chamber — that  closet  of  devo- 
tion—(alas  !  too  long  and  guiltily  neglected)  hal- 
lowed and  associated  with  a  renewed  consecration  to 
God,  and  with  manifold  tokens  of  His  gi^ace  and 
goodness.  That  hour  of  resisted  temptation,  says 
another,  is  the  "  Mizar"  on  whose  summit  my  stone 
of  gratitude  is  raised  ; — when  I  was  trembling  on  the 
edge  of  some  precipice,  and  God's  hand  interposed 
and  plucked  me  as  a  brand  from  the  burning.  That 
awful  bereavement  is  mine,  says  still  another,  which 
tore  up  my  affections  by  the  root,  and  led  me  to  seek 
in  God,  the  heritage  and  portion  which  no  creature- 
blessing  could  bestow.  It  seemed  at  the  time  to 
bode  nothing  but  anger,  but  I  see  it  now  the  ap- 
pointed herald  of  mercy  sent  to  open  up  everlasting 
consolations.  That  solemn  death-bed  is  mine, 
says  another,  when  I  saw  for  the  first  time  the 
reality  of  gospel  hope  in  the  departing  Christian, 
the  sweet  smile  of  a  foretasted  heaven  playing  upon 
the  lips,  as  if  the  response  to  the  angel-summons, 
"Come  up  hither!" 

It  is  well  for  all  of  us,  and  especially  in  our  seasons 


160  THE  HILL  MIZAR. 

of  depression  and  sorrow,  thus  to  retraverse  life,  and 
let  our  eyes  fall  on  these  Mizar-hills  of  God's  faith- 
fulness. In  seasons  of  spiritual  depression,  when 
apt  in  our  sinful  despondency  to  distrust  His  mercy, 
and  question  our  own  personal  interest  in  the  cove- 
nant ; — when  tempted  to  say  with  Gideon,  "  If  the 
Lord  be  with  us,  why  has  all  this  befallen  us?" — 
how  encouraging  to  look  back,  through  the  present 
lowering  cloud,  on  former  instances  and  memorials 
of  Jehovah's  favour,  when  we  had  the  assured  sense 
of  His  presence  ;  and  with  an  eye  resting  on  these 
Mizar-hills  on  which  He  ''appeared  of  old  to  us," 
disappointing  our  fears,  and  more  than  realising  our 
fondest  hopes, — to  remember,  for  our  comfort,  that 
having  "  loved  us  at  the  beginning/'  He  will  love  us 
"  even  to  the  end  !  "  If  we  can  rest  on  one  indubi- 
table token  of  His  mercy  in  the  past,  let  it  be  to  us  a 
Covenant-keepsake,  a  sweet  and  precious  token  and 
pledge,  that,  "  though  for  a  email  moment  He  may 
have  forsaken  us,"  yet  that  ''with  great  mercy  He 
will  gather  us,"  and  that  "  with  everlasting  kindness 
He  will  have  mercy  upon  us."* 

Why  not  thus  seek,  in  the  noblest  sense  of  the 

*  Isa.  liv.  8. 


THE  HILL  MIZAR.  16'1 

word,  to  rise  above  our  trials,  and  perplexities,  and 
sorrows,  by  taking  the  bright  side  of  things.  Tliere 
are  two  windows  in  every  soul.  The  one  looks  out 
on  a  dreary  prospect, — low^eriug  clouds,  barren  wilds, 
bleak,  sullen  hills,  pathways  overgrown  with  rank 
and  noxious  weeds.  The  other  opens  on  what 
is  bright  and  beauteous, — sunny  slopes,  verdant 
meadows,  luscious  flowers,  the  song  of  birds.  Many 
there  are  who  sit  always  at  the  former — gazing 
on  the  dark  side  of  things,  nursing  their  sorrows, 
brooding  over  their  trials.  They  can  see  nothing 
but  Sinai  and  Horeb — the  trail  of  serpents  and  the 
lair  of  wild  beasts.  Others,  with  a  truer  gospel- 
spirit,  love,  with  hopeful  countenance,  to  watch  the 
breaking  of  the  sunbeam  in  the  darkened  sky. 
Like  Paul,  they  seat  themselves  at  the  bright  lattice, 
saying,  ''Rejoice  in  the  Lord  alway,  and  again  I 
say,  rejoice''  Both  look  on  identically  the  same 
landscape.  But  the  one  descry  only  dull  heaths  and 
moors  draped  in  sombre  hue.  The  others  see  these 
glorified  with  sunlight.  The  one  gaze  on  nothing 
but  inky  skies  and  drenching  torrents.  The  others 
behold  the  bow  of  heaven  arching  the  sky.  and  the 
rain-drops  glittering  like  jewels  on  leaf,  and  grass, 


162  THE  HILL  MIZAE. 

and  flower.  The  one  can  descry  only  "  Hill  Diffi- 
culties "  and  "  Doubting  Castles/'  The  others  love 
to  gaze  on  Hermons  and  Mizars,  on  "  the  Palace 
Beautiful," — the  land  of  Beulah  ; — and,  bounding 
the  prospect,  the  towers  and  streets  of  the  Celestial 
City.  They  are  ready  to  acknowledge  that,  however 
many  may  have  been  their  tribulations,  their  mercies 
are  greater  and  more  manifold  still ; — that  however 
many  the  shadowy  valleys,  the  bright  spots  out- 
number the  dreary. 

Are  any  wdio  read  these  pages  cast  down  by 
reason  of  trouble,  and  perplexity,  and  sorrow?  Is 
God's  hand  lying  heavily  upon  you — are  you  in 
darkness,  and  in  the  deeps  ?  Seek  to  lift  the  eye  of 
faith  to  Him.  Seasons  of  trial  must  either  bring 
us  nearer  to  Him,  or  drive  us  further  from  Him. 
It  is  an  old  sajdng,  "  Affliction  never  leaves  us  as  it 
finds  us."  It  either  leads  us  to  "  remember  God," 
or  to  banish  and  forget  Him.  How  many  there 
are  (and  how  sad  is  their  case)  who,  when  Provi- 
dence seems  to  frown,^when  their  hearts  are  smit- 
ten like  grass,  their  cherished  hopes  blighted,  their 
gourds  withered, — are  led,  in  the  bitterness  of  their 
spirits,  to  say,  "  My  soul  is  cast  down  within  me, 


THE  HILL  MIZAR.  l6S 

therefore,  I  will  pine  away  in  disconsolate  sorrow. 
I  will  rush  to  ruin  and  despair.  My  lot  is  hard, 
my  punishment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear  ; — all  that 
made  life  happiness  to  me  has  perished; — theee- 
FOEE,  I  will  harden  my  heart.  I  do  well  to  be 
angry,  even  nnto  death.  Existence  has  no  charm 
for  me.  I  long  to  die — my  only  rest  will  be  the 
quiet  of  the  grave  !  " 

Sorrov/ing  one !  be  yours  a  nobler  philosophy. 
Look  back  from  these  valleys  of  death  and  tribu- 
lation, to  the  gleaming  summits  of  yonder  distant 
Mizar  hills!  Mark,  in  the  past,  the  tokens  and 
memorials  of  unmistakeable  covenant  love.  "Call 
to  remembrance  your  song"  in  former  nights. 
Wounded  Hart !  on  the  hills  of  Gilead,  forget  not 
thy  former  pastures.  Go !  stricken  and  smitten, 
with  the  tears  in  thine  eyes,  bathe  thy  panting 
sides  in  the  cooling  "water-brooks."  When  the 
disturbers  of  thy  peace  have  gone,  and  when  hushed 
again  is  thy  forest  home,  return  to  "  the  mountain 
of  myrrh  and  the  hill  of  frankincense.'''  Go, 
minstrel  monarch  of  Judah,  weeping  exile !  seat 
thyself  on  some  rocky  summit  on  these  ridges 
of   Hermon,  and,    surveying   mountain    height   on 


164  THE  HILL  MIZAR. 

mountain  "height,  in  the  land  of  covenant  promise, — 
each  associated  with  some  hallowed  memory, — take 
down  thy  harp,  and  sing  one  of  thine  own  songs  of 
Zion.  ''Thou  who  hast  shewed  me  great  and  sore 
troubles  shalt  quicken  me  again,  and  shalt  bring 
me  up  again  fi^om  the  depths  of  the  earth  I "  * 

*  Psuln.  Ixxi.  20. 


IX. 

%\)t  €lmm. 


"  God  of  my  life,  to  Thee  I  call. 
Afflicted  at  Thy  feet  I  faU, 
■\\Tien  the  great  water-floods  prevail, 
Leave  not  my  trembling  heart  to  fail !  " 

"  There  is  but  a  step  from  the  third  heavens  to  the  thorn  in 
the  flesh." — Winsloio. 

«  53ccp  taHctt)  unto  Dcfp  at  tfte  noise  of  tfto  ttjatir-sjioutsf :  nXl 
tl)p  ttialicsf  anD  tf)D  liiUottJiJ  are  gone  oVicr  me.  ^a  tbe  IXorCi 
tijin  commanD  W  lonino-ftinDnesg"  in  the  Daptune,  and  in  tbe 
nigt)t  bi5  ?ono  gftail  lie  toirf;  me,  anb  mp  piapcr  unto  t!;e  '©oD  of 
mp  iife."—  Verses  7,  8. 


IX 

THE  CLIMAX. 

The  storm-struggle  in  the  soul  of  the  Psalmist  is 
now  at  its  height.  In  the  j^revious  verse,  he  had 
penetrated  through  the  mists  of  unbelief  that  were 
surrounding  him,  and  rested  his  eye  on  the  Mizar 
hills  of  the  Divine  faithfulness  in  a  brighter  past. 
But  the  sunshine-glimpse  was  momentary.  It  has 
again  passed  away.  His  sky  is  anew  darkened — 
rain-clouds  sweep  the  horizon — "Deep  calleth  unto 
deep  at  the  noise  of  thy  water-spouts."  Amid  the 
environing  floods  he  exclaims,  "All  thy  waves  and 
thy  hilloius  have  gone  over  me  !  " 

The  figure  is  a  bold  and  striking  one.  '  Some 
have  thought  it  has  reference  to  the  sudden  rush 
of  water-torrents  from  the  heights  of  Lebanon  and 
Hermon ; — that  it  was  suggested  by  the  roaring 
cataracts  at  his  feet — Jordan  with  its  swollen  and 
winding  rapids — the  faithful  picture  of  tlie  deep- 


1G8  THE  CLIMAX. 

worn  channels  in  his  own  spirit — fretted  and  fur- 
rowed with  the  rush  of  overwhelming  sorrow. 

But  the  word  rendered  ''deep"  is,  in  the  origi- 
nal Hebrew,  more  applicable  to  the  floods  of  the 
ocean  than  to  the  rapids  of  a  river ;  and  the  image, 
in  this  sense,  is  bolder  and  more  expressive  still.* 
Billow  calls  on  billow  to  sweep  over  the  soul  of 
the  sufferer.  They  lift  their  crested  heads,  and 
with  hoarse  voice  summon  one  another  to  the  as- 
sault. "  Let  us  be  confederate !  "  say  they.  "  Let 
us  rouse  the  spirit  of  the  storm  !  Let  the  windows 
of  heaven  be  opened !  Let  the  fountains  of  the 
great  deep  be  broken  up,  that  we  may  shake  this 
man's  confidence  in  his  God,  and  plunder  faith  of 
her  expected  triumph  !  Ye  angry  tempests,  driving- 
sleet  and  battering  hail !  come  and  aid  us.  Ye 
forked  lightnings,  gleaming  swords  of  the  sky !  leap 
from  your  cloudy  scabbards.  Old  ocean  !  be  stirred 
from  your  lowest  depths.  Let  every  wave  be  fretted 
to  madness,  that  with  one  united  effort  we  may 
effect  his  discomfiture  and  leave  him  a  wreck  on 
the  waters ! " 

*  From  the  uplands  wliere  he  now  was,  in  the  recesses  he- 
twetu  the  mountains  of  Gilead,  David  could  catch  here  and 
there  a  glinijjsj  of  the  "  Great  Sea." 


THE  CLILIAX.  169 

They  obey  the  summons.  Ahx^ady  chafed  and 
buffeted,  they  return  with  fresh  violence  to  the 
shock.  Affliction  on  affliction,  temptation  on  temp- 
tation, roll  on  this  lonely,  surf-beaten  cliff.  Out- 
ward calamities — inward  troubles  ;  his  subjects  in 
revolt — his  friends  treacherous  ;  his  own  son  and 
favourite  child  heading  the  insurrection ;  he  himself 
an  exile,  haunted  with  the  thought  of  past  sins  that 
were  now  exacting  terrible  retribution  ; — and  worse 
than  all  temporal  calamities,  the  countenance  of  his 
God  averted.  Affliction  seemed  as  if  it  could  go 
no  further — "  All  thy  waves  and  thy  billows  have 
gone  over  me  !  " 

We  believe  there  are  periods  in  the  history  of 
most  of  God's  people  corresponding  to  the  awful 
experience  recorded  in  this  verse.  Few  there  are 
who  cannot  point  to  some  sad  and  memorable 
epochs  alike  in  their  natural  and  spiritual  being, 
— some  solemn  and  critical  crisis-hours,  in  which 
they  have  been  subjected  to  special  and  peculiar 
trials ; — encompassed  with  the  thunders  and  light- 
nings of  Sinai — the  trumpet  sounding  long  and  loud : 
— or,  to  revert  to  the  simile  of  the  Psalm,  when  the 
moorings  of  life  have  been  torn  away,  and  they  have 


170  THE  CLIMAX. 

been  left  to  drift,  on  a  starless,  tempestuous  ocean. 
Often,  as  with  David,  there  may  at  such  times  be  a 
combination  of  trials, — sickness — ^bereavement — loss 
of  worldly  substance — estrangement  of  friends — 
blighting  of  fair  hopes.  Then,  following  on  these, 
and  worse  than  all,  hard  thoughts  of  God.  We  see 
the  wicked  around  prospering, — vice  apparently 
pampered, — ^drtue  apparently  trodden  under  foot, — • 
many  passing  through  life  without  an  ache  or  trial 
— their  homes  uurifled — their  hearts  unwounded — 
their  every  plan  prospering — fortune  smihng  benig- 
nantly  at  every  turn ;  while  we  seem  to  have  been  a 
target  for  the  arrows  of  misfortune, — tempted  with 
Jeremiah  to  say,  "  /  am  the  man  who  have  seen 
affliction  by  the  rod  of  His  wrath."*  And  doubting 
a  God  of  providence,  the  next  step  is  to  doubt  a 
God  of  grace.  We  begin  to  question  our  interest 
in  the  covenant, — to  wonder  whether,  after  all,  our 
hopes  of  heaven  have  been  a  delusion  and  a  lie. 
God's  mercy  we  imagine  to  be  "gone  for  ever."  He 
seems  as  if  He  would  be  "  favourable  no  more." 
There  is  no  comfort  in  prayer — no  brightness  in  the 
promises  ;  the  Bible  is  a  sf^aled  book  ; — the  heavens 
*  Lam.  iii.  1. 


THE  CLIMAX.  171 

have  become  as  brass  and  the  earth  as  iron  !  Oh, 
so  long  as  we  had  merely  external  trials,  we  could 
brave  and  buffet  the  surrounding  floods.  So  long  as 
we  had  the  Divine  smile,  like  the  bow  in  the  cloud, 
resting  upon  us,  we  could  gaze  in  calmness  on 
the  blackest  sky  ; — yea,  rejoice  in  trial,  as  only  un- 
folding to  us  more  of  the  preciousness  of  the  Saviour. 
But  when  we  have  the  cloud  without  the  how, — 
when  outer  trials  come  to  a  soul  in  spiritual  unrest 
and  trouble, — when  we  harbour  the  suspicion  that 
the  only  Being  who  could  befriend  in  such  an  hour 
has  Himself  hidden  His  face, — when  we  have  neither 
this  world  nor  the  next  to  comfort  us — smitten 
hopes  for  time  and  despairing  hoj)es  for  eternity ! 
— this  is  the  woe  of  woes — the  "  horror  of  great 
darkness" — "deep  calleth  unto  deep."  We  can  say, 
w4th  a  more  terrible  emphasis  far  than  the  smitten 
patriarch,  "  /  AM  bereaved  !  " 

The  Psalmist  had  now  reached  this  extremity. 
It  is  the  turning  point  of  his  present  experience. 
He  has  two  alternatives  before  him  : — either  to  suf- 
fer unbelief  to  triumph,  to  distrust  God,  abandon 
the  conflict,  and  sink  as  lead  in  the  suro^inor 
waters;  or  to   gather  up  once  more  his  spiritual 


172  THE  CLIMAX. 

resources,  breast  the  waves,  and  manfully  buffet  the 
storm. 

It  is  with  him  now,  as  with  a  sinking  disciple  in  a 
future  age  : — when  the  storm  is  loudest  and  the  mid- 
night is  darkest,  the  voice  and  footsteps  of  his  God 
are  heard  on  the  waves :  "  Aiid  about  the  fourth  watch 
of  the  night,  Jesus  came  to  the  disciples,  lualking 
on  the  sea."  "  This  poor  man  cried,  and  the  Lord 
heard  him,  and  saved  him  out  of  all  his  troubles  ! "  * 

And  what  is  the  first  gleam  of  comfort  which 
crests  these  topmost  waves?  It  is  discerning  the 
hand  and  appointment  of  God  in  all  his  afflictions  ! 
He  speaks  of  "  Thy  waves  and  Thy  billows."  These 
floods  do  not  riot  and  revel  at  the  bidding  of  chance. 
"  The  Lord  sitteth  uj^on  the  water-floods.'' "^  While, 
in  one  sense,  it.  ao-o-ravated  his  trials  to  think  of 
them  as  Divine  chastisements — the  expressions  of  the 
Divine  displeasure  at  sin — yet  how  unspeakable  the 
consolation  that  every  billow  rolled  at  the  summons 
of  Omnipotence.  "  The  floods''  he  can  say,  "have 
lifted  up,  the  fliOods  have  lifted  up  their  voice ;  the 
floods  lift  up  their  waves.  The  Lord  on  high  is 
mightier  than  the  noise  of  many  tvaters,  yea,  than 
*  Psalm  xxxiv.  6.  +  Psalm  xxix.  10. 


THE  CLIMAX.  173 

the  mighty  waves  of  the  sea.''*  *'  0  Lord  our  God, 
who  is  a  strong  Lord  like  unto  thee  I  Thou  ridest 
the  raging  of  the  sea :  ivJien  the  waves  thereof  arise, 
thou  stillest  themf'f 

But  he  could  go  further  than  this.  He  could 
triumph  in  the  assurance  of  God's  returning  favour  ; 
— that  behind  these  troubled  elements  there  was 
seated  a  Beinsj  of  unchanoino;  faithfulness  and  love. 
Already  the  lowering  mist  was  beginning  to  clear  off 
the  mountains,  and  the  eye  of  faith  to  descry  suuny 
patches  of  golden  light  gleaming  in  the  hollows. 
Soon  he  knew  the  whole  landscape  would  be  flooded 
with  glory.  The  sailor  does  not  discredit  the  exist- 
ence of  the  beacon  or  lighthouse,  or  alter  the  direc- 
tion of  his  vessel,  because  the  fog  prevents  these 
being  seen.  Nay  rather,  he  strains  his  eyes  more 
keenly  through  the  murky  curtain,  in  hopes  of  hail- 
ing their  guidance.  When  a  cloud  or  clouds  are 
passing  over  the  sun's  disc,  and  hiding  it  from  view, 
the  sunflower  does  not,  on  account  of  the  momen- 
tary intervention,  hang  its  head,  or  cease  to  turn  in 
the  direction  of  the  great  luminary.  It  keeps  still 
gazing  upwards  with  wistful  eye,  as  if  knowing  that 

*  Psalm  xciii.  3,  L  t  Psalm  Ixxxix.  8,  9. 


17^  THE  CLIMAX. 

the  clouds  will  soon  roll  past,  and  that  it  will  ere  long 
again  be  bathed  in  the  grateful  beams  !  So  it  was 
with  David.  He  felt  that  the  countenance  of  his 
God,  though  hidden,  was  not  eclipsed.  This  pining 
flower  on  the  mountains  of  Gilead  does  not  droop 
in  the  anguish  of  unbelief,  when  ''  the  Sun  of  his 
soul "  is  for  the  moment  obscured.  He  knew  that 
there  would  yet  arise  "  light  in  the  darkness."  Amid 
the  roll  of  the  billows — the  moaning  of  the  blast — 
he  listens  to  celestial  music.  Its  key-note  is  "  the 
loving-kindness"  of  his  God.  While  the  heavens  are 
still  black,  and  the  tempest  raging,  he  lifts  the  voice 
of  faith  above  the  war  of  the  storm,  and  thus  sings : 
— ''  Yet  the  Lord  will  command  his  loving-kind- 
ness  in  the  day-time,  and  in  the  night  his  song 
shall  he  ivitli  me,  and  my  prayer  unto  the  God  of 
m.y  life  !  " 

"  Yet  the  Lord ! "  The  believer,  even  in  his 
deepest  and  darkest  season  of  trouble,  has  always 
this  alternative  word — "  Yet  the  Lord  will  !  "  I 
am  sunk  in  sore  trial — "  Yet  the  Lord"  will  be 
faithful  to  His  promises !  I  have  been  bereaved  of 
those  near  and  dear  to  me — "  Yet  the  Lord ''  will  be 
to  me  a  name  better  than  that  of  son  or  daughter ! 


THE  CLIMAX.  175 

I  have  been  laid  for  long  jTars  on  this  conch  of  suf- 
fering-— "  Yet  the  Lord  "  has  converted  this  lonely 
sick-chamber  into  the  vestibule  of  heaven.  I  have 
been  tossed  and  harassed  mth  countless  spiritual 
temptations — "  Yet  the  Lord. "  will  not  suffer  these 
temptations  to  go  further  than  I  am  able  to  bear. 
I  am  soon  to  walk  through  the  dark  valley — "  Yet " 
will  ''  I  fear  no  evil,  for  ThoK  art  with  me ! " 

The  Psalmist's  assurance  of  deliverance  was  indeed 
the  test  of  no  meagre  faitli.  We  know  well,  how 
apt  we  are  to  be  influenced  and  affected  by  pre- 
sent circumstances.  When  all  is  bright,  and  genial, 
and  prosperous, — amid  a  happ}^  home  and  kind 
friends, — in  the  midst  of  robust  health  and  flourish- 
ing worldly  schemes,  the  buoyant  heart  is  full  of 
elasticity.  The  joy  without,  imparts  an  inner  sun- 
shine. A  man  is  happy  and  hopeful  in  spite  of 
himself.  But  if  all  at  once  he  is  plunged  into  a 
vortex  of  trouble, — if  clouds  gather  and  thicken 
around, — the  mind  not  only  becomes  the  prey  of 
its  own  trials,  but  it  peoples  the  future  with 
numberless  imaginary  evils,  and  its  very  remaining 
joys  and  blessings  become  tinged  and  sicklied  over 
with  the  predominating  sadness  1     It  could  as  little 


176  THE  CLIMAX. 

be  expected,  on  natural  principles,  that  tlie  heart 
cculd  in  such  circumstances  be  hopeful  and  re- 
joicing, as  to  expect  that  the  outer  landscape  of 
nature  would  glov/  and  sparkle  with  beauty,  if  the 
clouds  of  heaven  obscured  the  great  fountain  of 
light. 

But  faith,  strong  in  God's  word,  can  triumph 
over  natural  obstacles.  It  did  so  in  the  case  of 
this  afflicted  exile.  He  remembered  how  his  God 
had  vouchsafed  past  deliverances,  even  when  he  least 
expected  them  ; — "  They  looked  unto  Him  aiid  were 
lightened''^  [literally,  '•'their  countenances  were 
made  bright/']  He  feels  assured  that  the  same 
loving-kindness  v/ill  be  "  commanded  "  still.  He  sees 
God's  covenant  faithfulness  resting  calmly  and  beau- 
tifully, like  the  rainbow-tints  in  the  spray  of  the 
cataract !  "  Who  is  among  you  that  feareth  the 
Lord,  that  oheyeth  the  voice  of  his  servant,  that 
walketh  in  darkness,  and  hath  no  light  ?  let  him 
trust  in  the  name  of  the  Lord,  and  stay  upon  Jiis 
Godr-Y 

This  experience  we  have  been  considering  is  that 
of  Christ's  people  only.  But  there  is  an  experience 
♦  Psalm  xxxiv.  6.  f  Isaiah  1.  10. 


THE  CLDIAX.  177 

sadder  still :  that  of  those  who  are  living  "  without 
God,"  and  therefore  "  without  hope  ;  " — the  billows 
heaving,  and  yet  they  knowing  not  of  them  ; — "  deep 
calling  to  deep,"  yet  they  ignorant  alike  of  their 
guilt  and  danger  !  There  is  nothing  more  sad  or 
touching  in  the  midst  of  a  storm, — when  the  vessel 
is  reeling  on  the  vv'aves,  and  little  expectation  of 
safety  is  left, — than  to  see,  amidst  the  settled 
gloom  of  despair,  the  little  child  playing  on  the 
deck,  all  unaware  of  wliat  is  impending ; — or,  at 
a  time  of  heart-rending  bereavement,  when  every 
face  of  the  household  is  muffled  in  sadness  and 
suffused  with  tears,  to  hear  the  joyous  laugh  and 
playful  prattle  of  unconscious  infancy.  Ah !  of 
how  many  is  this  the  position  with  regard  to 
eternity;  —  living  heedless  of  their  danger  —  the 
waves  of  destruction  ready  to  close  over  them ! 
Sadder  far,  surely,  is  their  case,  than  aU  the  troubles 
and  trials  of  God's  most  afflicted  people.  Their 
waves  and  billows  are  crested  with  hope — "  songs 
in  the  nioht "  come  floatinoj  alonir  the  darkened 
surges ;  but  the  future  to  the  others  has  no  rny  '^f 
hope,  no  midnight  star,  no  divine  song!  Theie  is 
a  time  coming  when,  in  a  more  awful  sense,  the 


178  THE  CLIMAX. 

cry  will  be  heard,  "  Deep  calletli  unto  deep :  all 
Thy  waves  and  Thy  billows  have  gone  over  me ! " 
But  there  mil  be  no  after-stram — no  joyous  anthem 
of  anticipated  deliverance — "Yet  the  Lord  will 
command  His  loving-ldndness  ! "  In  vain  will  the 
cry  ascend,  "  My  heart  is  overwhelmed  :  lead  me 
to  the  Eock  that  is   higher  than  I." 

But,  blessed  be  God,  that  cry  may  ascend  now — • 
that  Eock  may  be  fled  to  as  a  shelter  now.  Sinner  ! 
these  waves  swept  over  the  Eock  of  Ages,  that 
they  might  not  sweep  over  you  1  Sheltered  in 
these  crevices,  you  will  be  eternally  safe.  Not 
one  blast  of  the  storm,  not  one  drop  of  the  rain- 
shower  of  vengeance,  can  overtake  you.  When  the 
billows  of  wrath — the  deluge  of  fire — shall  roll  over 
this  earth,  safe  in  these  everlasting  clefts,  you  may 
utter  the  challenge,  "  Who  shall  separate  me  from 
the  love  of  Christ  ? " 


"  When  darkness  long  has  veil'd  my  mind, 

And  smiling  day  once  more  appears. 
Then,  my  Redeemer,  then  I  find, 

The  folly  of  my  doubts  and  fears : 
Straight  I  upbraid  my  wandering  heart. 

And  blush  that  I  should  ever  be 
Thus  prone  to  act  so  base  a  part, 

Or  harbour  one  hard  thought  of  Thee  1 " 

"  Here  deep  calls  to  deep.  Yet  in  the  midst  of  those  deepa 
faith  is  not  drowned.  You  see  it  lifts  its  head  above  water," — 
Bishop  Hall. 

"  We  perceive  the  Psalmist  full  of  perplexed  thought,  and  that 
betwixt  strong  desires  and  griefs,  and  yet  in  the  midst  of  them 
intermixing  strains  of  hope  with  his  sad  complaints.  .  .  .  What 
is  the  whole  thread  of  our  life  but  a  chequered  twist,  black  and 
white,  of  delights  and  dangers  interwoven  ?  And  the  happiest 
passing  of  it  is,  constantly  to  enjoy  and  to  observe  the  experi- 
ences of  God's  goodness,  and  to  praise  Him  for  them." — Arck- 
hishop  Leighton,  1649. 

"  !Dcf p  caHctb  unto  deep  at  tfte  noise  of  thr}  toatcr^ppouts :  an 
tb)?  ttjatcs  anD  tbi?  lii((o\r?  arc  0onc  oIut  me.  i|ct  tf?e  iior& 
ujill  cotnmanb  \)\s  loVimg-TuntJncss  m  tfjc  ban-timt:,  antJ  in  ri;e 
nigf;t  f)is  song  sl;aKi  iie  mi))  me,  antJ  mn  prapcr  unto  tlje  -iSoD  of 
mp  lift'."—  Venes  7, 8. 


X. 

LESSONS. 

In  the  previous  chapter  we  spoke  of  the  two 
verses  which  form  the  turning-point  in  the  psahn, — 
the  climax  of  the  conflict  therein  so  strikingly  de- 
scribed between  belief  and  unbelief.  We  referred  to 
the  boldness  and  expressiveness  of  the  figure :  the 
troubles  of  the  believer,  like  the  billows  of  the  ocean 
calling  on  one  another  to  unite  their  strength  that 
they  might  effect  his  overthrow,  but  faith  rising 
triumphant  above  them  all.  At  times,  when  all 
human  comfort  gives  way,  God  himself  appears. 
"  The  voice  of  the  Lord  is  upon  the  waters."*  He 
not  only  "  commands  His  loving-kindness  in  the  day- 
time," but  ''in  THE  NIGHT  His  song  is  with  us." 
Our  heavenly  Parent  comes  in  earth's  darkest,  most 
tempestuous  hours,  sits  by  our  side,  sings  His  night- 
song— His  own  lullaby — "  Peace,  be  still  ! "  "  So 
giveth  He  His  beloved  sleep !  "  f     God's  "  songs " 

*  Psalm  xxix.  8.  f  Psalm  cxxvii.  2. 


]  82  LESSONS. 

sound  always  sweetest  *'  hy  night " — the  deep,  dark 
night  of  affliction.  The  nightingale's  notes  are 
nothing  by  day — they  would  be  lost  in  tlie  chorus 
of  other  birds ;  but  when  these  have  retired  to  their 
nests,  she  prolongs  her  tuneful  descant,  and  sere- 
nades, with  her  warblings,  the  silent  earth.  The 
world  can  only  give  its  song  hy  day.  It  can  speak 
only  in  the  sunshine  of  prosperity.  But  "  God  our 
Maker  giveth  songs  in  the  night  l'"^  His  promises, 
like  the  nightingale,  sound  most  joyously,  and, 
like  the  glow-worm,  shine  most  brightly,  in  the 
dark  ! 

Let  us  pause  ere  proceeding  with  the  sequel  of 
the  Psalm,  and  ponder  the  great  lesson  to  be  derived 
from  this  experience  of  David. 

It  is,  to  TEUST  God  in  the  darkest,  gloomiest 
night  of  earthly  trial !  To  wait  His  own  time, 
and  to  say  when  the  billows  are  highest,  "  Yet  the 
Lord  will" 

This  is  one  great  end  and  design  of  trial,  to 
exercise  the  grace  of  patience.  There  is  nothing 
God  loves  better  than  a  waiting  sold,  "  The  Lord 
is  good  to  them  that  wait  for  Him."  -f     "J  waited 

*  Job  XXXV.  10.  t  Lam.  iii.  45. 


LESSONS.  ISS 

patiently,''  says  David,  in  another  Psalm,  (or,  as  it  is 
literally,  "  I  waited,  waited,")  ''for  the  Lord,  and  He 
inclined  unto  me,  and  heard  my  cry."*  "/  know 
thy  works,"  says  Jesus,  speaking  of  old,  in  the 
language  of  commendation,  to  His  church  at 
Ephesus :  "  how  thou  hast  boen^e,  and  hast  patience, 
and  for  my  names  sake  hast  laboured,  and  hast 
not  FAINTED.'"  -f-  How  often  has  our  way  appeared 
to  be  hedged  up  with  thorns, — as  if  there  were  no 
possibility  of  egress !  In  sailing  among  some  of 
our  own  Highland  lakes  and  inland  seas,  where 
tlie  mountains,  in  a  thousand  fantastic  forms,  rise 
abrupt  from  the  shore,  we  frequently  seem  to  be  land- 
locked, and  able  to  get  no  farther.  Yet  the  vessel 
pursues  its  serpentine  course ;  and  as  we  double  the 
first  juttmg  promontory,  the  lake  again  expands ; 
the  same  waters  appear  beyond,  gleaming  like  a 
mirror  of  molten  gold.  We  find  what  we  imagined 
to  be  an  impassable  barrier,  is  only  a  strait,  open- 
ing into  new  combinations  of  mountain  majesty  and 
beauty.  So  is  it  in  the  Voyage  of  life.  Often,  in 
its  fitful  turnings  and  windings,  do  we  seem  to  be 
arrested   in   our  way  ; — "  Hill    Difficulties  "  rising 

♦  Psalm  xl.  1.  +  Rev.  ii.  3. 


184  LESSONS. 

before  us,  and  appealing-  to  impede  our  vessel's 
course ; — but  as  faith  steers  onwards,  impediments 
vanish,  new  vistas  and  experiences  of  loving-kind- 
ness open  up.  Where  we  expected  to  be  stopped 
by  walls  of  frowning  rock  and  barren  mountains, 
lo !  limpid  waves  are  seen  laving  the  shore,  and 
joyful  cascades  are  heard  singing  their  way  to  the 
silver  strand ! 

And  not  only  does  God  thus  ''command  His 
loving-kindness"  in  disappointing  our  fears,  but 
"in  the  nioht   His   sono'  shall  be  with  us."     He 

o  o 

will  turn  the  very  midnights  of  our  sorrow  into 
occasions  of  grateful  praise !  Yes !  if  not  now, 
we  shall  come  yet  to  see  the  "  needs  be "  of 
every  trial.  We  have  only  a  partial  view  here 
of  God's  dealings — His  half-completed,  half-deve- 
loped plan ;  but  all  will  stand  out  in  fair  and 
graceful  proportions  in  the  great  finished  Temple 
of  Eternity ! 

Go,  in  the  reign  of  Israel's  greatest  King,  to  the 
heights  of  the  forest  of  Lebanon.  See  tliat  noble 
Cedar,  the  pride  of  its  compeers,  an  old  wrestler  wiih 
the  northern  blasts  of  Palestine !  Summer  lov1?s  to 
smile  upo:;i  it — ni^ht  spangles  its  feathery  foliage 


LESSONS.  185 

with  dew-drops — the  birds  nestle  on  its  branches — 
the  wild  deer  slumber  under  it.-;  shadow — the  weary 
pilgrim,  or  wandering  shepherd,  repose  under  its 
curtaining  boughs  from  the  mid-da;/  heat  or  from 
the  furious  storm  ;  but  all  at  once  it  is  marked  out 
to  fall, — the  old  denizen  of  that  primeval  forest  is 
doomed  to  succumb  to  the  woodman's  stroke  !  As 
we  see  the  unsparing  axe  making  its  first  gash 
on  its  gnarled  trunk — then  the  noble  limbs  stripped 
of  their  branches — ^and  at  last  the  proud  '*  Tree  of 
God "  coming  with  a  crash  to  the  ground ;  we 
exclaim  against  the  wanton  destruction — the  de- 
molition of  this  noblest  of  pillars  in  the  temple 
of  nature, — and  we  are  tempted  to  cry  with  the 
prophet,  as  if  inviting  the  sympathy  of  every  low- 
lier stem — invokinoj  inanimate  thino-s  to  resent  the 
affront — "  Howl,  fir-tree,  for  the  cedar  has  fallen  !" 
But  wait  a  little  ! — follow  that  gigantic  trunk  as  the 
workmen  of  Hiram  launch  it  down  the  mountain 
side, — thence  conveyed  in  monster  rafts  along  the 
blue  waters  of  the  Mediterranean, — and  last  of  all,  be- 
hold it  set  a  glorious  polished  beam  in  the  Temple  of 
God; — and  then,  as  you  see  its  destination, — gazing 
down  on  the  very  Holy  of  Holies,  set  in  the  diadem  of 


186  LESSONS. 

the  Great  King; — say,  can  you  grudge  that  the  crowTi 
of  Lebanon  was  despoiled,  in  order  that  this  jewel 
niicrht  have  so  noble  a  setting;  ?  That  cedar  stood  as 
a  stately  beam  and  pillar  in  nature's  temple,  but  the 
glory  of  the  latter  house  was  greater  than  the  glory 
of  the  former.  How  many  of  our  souls  are  like  these 
cedars  of  God  !  His  axes  of  trial  have  stripped  and 
bared  them, — we  see  no  reason  for  dealings  so  dark 
and  mysterious ;  but  He  has  a  noble  end  and  object 
in  view — to  set  them  as  everlasting  pillars  and  rafters 
in  His  heavenly  temple,  to  make  them  "  a  crown  of 
glory  in  the  hand  of  the  Lord,  and  a  royal  diadem 
ill  the  hand  of  our  God  !" 

Or  take  another  illustration.  Go  to  one  of  our 
graving-docks,  where  the  weather-beaten  vessel  has 
been  weeks  or  months  in  the  carj)enter's  hands.  Her 
started  timbers  are  replaced,  her  shattered  keel  re- 
newed, the  temporary  props  and  scaffoldings  have 
been  removed,  and  with  her  gay  streamers  afloat, 
and  her  crew  on  deck,  she  stands  ready  and  equipped 
for  sea.  What  is  needed  ?  Nothing  but  the  open- 
ing of  the  sluices,  to  reunite  her  to  her  old  watery 
element.  She  lies  a  helpless,  decrepit  thing,  till  these 
dock-gates  be  opened,  and  the  buoyant  waves  rush 


LESSONS.  1 87 

to  clasp  her  anew  in  their  embrace.  It  is  done  !  But 
at  first  all  is  noise,  and  wrath,  and  tumult.  Thes© 
gurgling  waters,  discoloured  with  mud  and  sediment, 
convert  the  noble  granite  basin  into  an  inky,  turgid 
wljirlpool.  Ere  long,  however,  the  strife  ceases ; 
the  great  wooden  wall  raises  itself  like  a  child  that 
has  been  awoke  in  its  cradle  by  the  voice  of  the 
storm  —  the  waters  gradually  calm  and  subside ; 
— hioher  and  still  hioher  is  the  vessel  lifted,  till, 
amid  the  cheers  of  the  crew,  she  passes  by  the 
opened  gates,  and,  with  every  sail  spread  to  the 
breeze,  is  off  to  new  voyages  in  her  ocean-home. 

Child  of  trial !  "  vessel  of  mercy  1 "  your  God 
sees  meet  at  times  to  bring  you  into  the  graving- 
dock,  that  He  may  put  His  tools  upon  you,  and 
refit  and  prepare  you  for  the  great  voyage  of 
immortality.  When  He  opens  the  sluices  of  trial, 
you  may  see  no  mercy  in  His  dealings.  It  may 
be  "  deep  calling  to  deep  " — the  roar  and  heaving 
of  antagonist  waters ;  they  may  at  first,  too,  stir 
up  nothing  but  the  dregs  and  sediment  of  sin, — • 
expose  the  muddy  pools,  the  deep  corruptions  of 
the  heart.  But  be  still!  He  will  yet  vindicate 
the  rectitude  and  wisdom  of  His  own  procedure. 


188  LESSONS. 

Ere  long,  these  surging  waves  will  settle  peacefully 
around  you,  the  shadows  of  heaven  reflected  in 
their  glassy  surface  ;  and  better  still,  strengthened 
and  renovated  by  that  season  of  trial,  you  will  go 
fortli  from  the  Graver's  hands  more  ready  to  brave 
the  billows,  grapple  with  the  tempest,  and  reach  at 
last  the  haven  where  you  would  be ! 

It  is  hard  discipline — the  undo\^Tiy  pillow,  the 
trench-work  and  midnight  vigils — which  makes  the 
better  soldier.  The  type  of  strength  in  the  kingdom 
of  inanimate  nature,  is  not  the  sickly  plant  of  the 
hot-house,  or  the  tree  or  bush  choked  in  the  dark 
jungle  ;  but  the  pine  rocked  by  Alpine  or  Nor- 
wegian tempests,  or  the  oak  mooring  its  roots  in  the 
rifted  rock !  David  would  neither  have  been  the 
Kino-  or  the  Saint  he  was,  but  for  the  caves  of  Adul- 
lam  and  Engedi,  the  rocks  of  the  wild  goats,  the 
forest  exile  of  Hermon  and  Gilead.  He  had  to 
thank  affliction  for  his  best  spiritual  graces.  The 
redeemed  in  glory  are  ready  to  tell  the  same.  "  We 
would  never  have  been  here  but  for  these  storms  of 
'  irreat  tribulation.'  But  for  the  loss  of  that  child 
— that  worldly  calamity — that  protracted  sickness — 
that    cutting   disappointment  —  that    woundng   of 


LESSONS.  ]  89 

my  heart's  affection — that  annihihUion  of  earthly 
pride  and  ambition — that  '  deejj  calling  to  deep ' — 
I  would  not  now  have  been  wearing  this  crown!" 
Trials  have  been  well  compared  to  the  winds  God 
employs  to  fill  our  sails  and  fetch  us  home  to  the 
harbour  of  everlasting  peace  I  * 

One  word  of  caution  ere  we  close  this  chapter. 
From  all  we  have  said — of  '^  deeps  "  and  "  floods," 
storms  and  water-spouts,  and  midnight  darkness — 
are  any  to  leave  these  pages  with  the  feeling  that 
Eeligion  is  a  gloomy,  repulsive  thing  ; — that  the  be- 
liever's life  is  one  of  darkness  and  despair ; — that 
better  far  is  the  v/orld's  gaiety  and  folly — the  merry 
laugh  of  its  light-hearted  votaries — than  a  life  of 
sadness  like  this  ?  Mistake  us  not !  We  repeat 
\Ahat  we  have  already  said.  The  experience  we 
have  been  now  considering  is,  in  many  respects, 
pecuKar ;  one  of  those  dark  j^assages  which  stand 
alone  in  the  diary  of  the  spiritual  life.  Religion 
gloomy  !  AYho  says  so  ?  Shall  we  take  St  Paul  as 
our  oracle?     Yv^hat  is  his  testimony?     In  all  his 

*  See  "  Life  Thouglits."     The  author  has  been  more  than  once 
indebted,  in  this  volume,  to  this  suggestive  little  book. 


1 90  LESSONS. 

letters  he  tries  to  crowd  as  much  as  he  can  into 
little  sjDace.  In  one  of  these,  he  has  room  for  only- 
two  injunctions.  But  instead  of  giving  two  that 
are  different,  he  prefers  to  repeat  the  one.  It  is  the 
emphatic  tautology,  "  Rejoice  in  the  Lord  aliuay  : 
and  AGAIN  /  say,  Eejoice."  *  Or  shall  we  seek 
a  different  tribunal?  Go  gather  together  all  the 
philosophers  of  antiquity — Plato,  Socrates,  Aristotle. 
Bring  together  the  wise  men  of  Greece — the  i^hiloso- 
phers  of  Alexandria — the  sages  of  Eome.  Ask  if 
their  combined  and  collected  wisdom  ever  solved 
the  doubts  of  one  awakened  soul,  as  have  done 
these  leaves  of  this  Holy  Book  ?  AYhich  of  them 
ever  dried  the  tear  of  widowhood  as  these  ?  Which 
of  them  ever  smoothed  the  cheek  of  the  fatherless 
as  these  ?  Which  of  them  ever  lighted  the  torch 
of  hope  and  peace  at  the  dying  bed  as  these,  and 
flashed  upon  the  departing  soul  visions  of  unearthly- 
joy  ?  0  Pagan  darkness  !  where  was  thij  song  in 
the  night?  In  the  region  and  shadow  of  death, 
where  did  thy  light  arise  ? 

But  WE  have  a  "  more  sure  word  of  prophecy,  to 
which  we  do  well  to  take  heed,  as  unto  a  liglit 

*  Pliil.  iv.  4. 


LESSONS.  191 

shining  in  a  dark  place."  The  Christian  is  the  man 
who  alone  can  wear  the  sunny  countenance.  The 
peace  of  God,  keeping  the  heart  within,  cannot  fail 
to  be  mirrored  in  the  look  and  life  without !  And  if 
(as  often  is  the  case)  he  has  his  appointed  seasons 
of  trial — the  sea  of  life  swept  with  storms  of  great 
tribulation — it  is  with  him  as  with  yonder  ocean. 
To  the  eye  of  the  youno-  voyager,  gazing  on  its 
mountain  billows,  it  wouia  seem  as  if  its  lowest 
caverns  were  stirred,  iird  ^he  w<.Sd  "^ere  rockino-  to 
its  foundations ;  "while,  after  all,  it  is  only  a  surface- 
heaving  !  There  are  deeps,  unfathomed  deeps,  of 
calm  rest  and  peace,  down  in  that  ocean's  undis- 
turbed recesses. 

Believer  in  Jesus  !  with  all  thy  trials,  thou  art  a 
happy  man.  Go  on  thy  way  rejoicing.  Tribula- 
tion may  fret  and  ruffle  the  calm  of  thy  outer  life, 
but  nothing  can  touch  the  deeps  of  thy  nobler  being. 
Troubles  may  rise,  and  "terrors  may  frown,"'  and 
"days  of  darkness"  may  fall  around  thee,  but 
"  Thou  ivilt  keep  him,  0  God,  in  perfect  peace 
whose  mind  is  stayed  on  Thee  !" 


XL 


Jfatt^  anJr  '^ragtr. 


*'  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  rae  hide  myself  in  Thee  !  " 

**The  soul  of  man  serves  the  purpose,  as  it  were,  of  a  work- 
shop to  Satan,  in  which  to  forge  a  thousand  methods  of  despair. 
And  therefore  it  is  not  without  reason  that  David,  after  a  severe 
conflict  witli  himself,  has  recourse  to  prayer,  and  calls  upon  God 
as  the  witness  of  his  sorrow." — Calvin  on  the  Psalms. 

•^3:  ttjifl  snj?  unto  «5cD  mn  rcclfi,  XC'h)  t)a6CtI;oii  fcrgottrn  mc? 
toftn  go  3:  mourninrj  ijccausc  of  tfce  oppression  of  the  rni'mri  ? 
Ks  U3i  i)  a  sujorii  in  mn  lionee,  mine  rncmicg"  rrproacb  me  ;  tobile 
tfct'p  jsap  Daily  unto  mc,  iDfjcrc  is  t&i?  ^ob?  " — Verses  9,  10. 


XL 
FAITH  AND  PEAYER 

I'OUCHING  was  that  scene  which  occurred  three 
thousand  years  ago  on  the  borders  of  Palestine : 
aged  Naomi,  in  returning  to  the  land  of  her  own 
kindred  from  her  sojourn  in  Moab,  pausing  to  take 
a  last  farewell  of  her  two  loving  daughters-in-law  ! 
One  of  these  refuses  to  part  from  her.  Strong  may 
be  the  inducement  to  Euth  to  return  to  the  home 
of  her  childhood,  and,  above  all,  to  the  spot  where 
hallowed  dust  reposes  (the  buried  treasure  of  her 
young  affections).  But  ties  stronger  than  death 
link  her  soul  to  the  one  who  had  shared  for  ten 
years  her  joys  and  sorrows.  With  impassioned 
tears,  she  announces  her  determination  !  Her  re- 
solve may  entail  upon  her  manifold  sacrifices.  She 
may  be  going  to  an  alien  people — to  a  home  of 
penury — to  bleak  and  barren  wilds,  compared  with 
her  own  fertile  vales.     But  she  is  ready  for  any 

toil,  any    self-denial,  if    only  permitted  to   retain 

N 


1  94  FAITH  AND  PEAYER. 

the  companionsliip  of  that  living,  loving  heart, 
which  had  been  to  her  all  that  earthly  tenderness 
could  be. 

Such,  if  we  may  coiiijjare  an  earthly  with  a 
heavenly  affection,  were  the  feelings  of  the  banished 
King  of  Jndah,  at  this  time,  towards  his  God.  All 
the  temj^tations  that  have  been  assailing  him,  have 
not  rej^ressed  the  ardour  of  his  faith,  or  diminished 
the  fervour  of  his  love.  Unbelief  had  done  its  best 
to  sever  the  holy  bond  wdiich  linked  him  to  his 
Heavenly  Friend ;  but,  like  the  tender-hearted 
Moabitess  from  whom  he  sprung,  he  wdll  submit  to 
any  privation  rather  than  be  parted  from  Him 
whose  favour  is  life.  "  Entreat  me  not  to  leave 
Thee,"  is  the  S]3irit  at  least  of  his  fervid  aspiration  ; 
"  nor  to  return  from  following  after  Thee.  Where 
Thou  goest  I  will  go,  and  where  Thou  dwellest  I 
will  dwell ;  and  death  itself  shall  not  separate  be- 
tween Thee  and  me."  As  Peter,  in  a  future  age, 
rushed  to  the  feet  of  that  Saviour  he  had  again  an;l 
again  wounded,  so  these  many  waters  (the  "deep 
calling  to  deep")  cannot  quench  the  Psalmist's  love, 
nor  many  floods  drovm  it.  The  voice  of  malignant 
taunt  and  scorn,  "Where  is  now  tliy  God?"  might 


FAITH  AND  PEAYER.  195 

have  driven  others  to  despair ;  but  it  only  rouses 
him  ujD,  in  the  midnight  of  his  strugole,  to  the 
exercise  of  new  spiritual  graces.  "  I  shall  not,"  he 
seems  to  say,  "  surrender  my  holy  trust ;  I  know 
the  graciousness  of  the  God  with  whom  I  have  to 
deal.  Nothing  will  tempt  me  to  abandon  my 
interest  in  the  covenant.  I  shall  take  a  nev/ 
weapon  from  the  Divine  armoury ;  with  it  I  shall 
seek  to  decide  the  conflict.  No  jibes  of  the  scoffer, 
no  rebellious  son,  no  crafty  Ahithophel,  can  rob  me 
of  the  privilege  of  Peayee."  "/  will  say  unto 
God  my  Rock,  Why  hast  Thou  forgotten  me  1  luhy 
go  I  mourning  because  of  the  oppression  of  the 
enemy  V 

It  is,  then,  a  combined  exercise  of  faith  and 
prayer,  on  the  part  of  David,  we  are  now  called 
to  consider.  Out  of  weakness  he  is  made  strong, 
waxes  valiant  in  fight,  and  turns  to  flight  the  armies 
of  the  aliens. 

Let  us  advert  to  each  in  their  order. 

Faith  regards  God  here  under  a  twofold  aspect. 

1.  It  looks  to  Him  as  an  immutable  God. 

Amid  the  fitfulness  of  his  own  feelings,  this 
was  the  Psalmist's  consolation — ''God  my  Rock!" 


196  FAITH  AND  PRAYER. 

What  a  source  of  comfort  is  there  here  in  the 
immutdbility  of  Jehovah.  All  else  around  us  is 
unstable.  External  nature  bears  on  every  page 
of  its  volume  the  traces  of  mutation.  Earth  has 
the  folds  already  on  its  vesture — the  Avrinkles  of 
aoje  on  its  brow.  The  ocean  murmurs  of  chano^e, 
as  its  billows  chafe  on  altered  landmarks.  Human 
friendships  and  human  associations  are  all  fluctuat- 
ing. ^  So  are  our  habits,  and  tastes,  and  employ- 
ments. The  old  man,  looking  back  from  some 
hoary  pinnacle  on  the  past,  almost  questions  his  per- 
sonal identity.  And  these  emptied  chairs! — these 
faces,  once  glowing  at  our  firesides,  now  greeting 
our  gaze  only  in  mute  and  silent  portraits  on  the 
wall!  ''Here  we  have  no  continuing  city,"  is  the 
oracle  of  all  time. 

"  Bat  Thou  art  the  same,  and  Thy  years  shall 
have  no  end"*  "Heaven  and  earth  may  pass 
away,"  but  there  is  no  change,  and  can  be  none, 
in  an  all-perfect  God!  "The  wheel  turns  round, 
but  the  axle  is  immutable."  The  clouds  which 
obscure  the  sun  do  not  descend  from  heaven — 
they  are  exhaled  from  earth.  It  is  the  soul's  own 
*  Psalm  cii.  27. 


FAITH  AND  PBAYEE.  197 

darkening  vapours,  generated  by  unbelief  and  sin, 
which  at  times  taint  and  obscure  the  moral  atmo- 
sphere. Behind  every  such  murky  haze  He  shines 
brightly  as  ever.  ''Hast  thou  not  knoiun?  hast 
thou  not  heard,  that  the  everlasting  God,  the  Lord, 
the  Creator  of  the  ends  of  the  earth,  fainteih 
not,  neither  is  weary V*  "Young  sailors,"  says 
Rutherford,  "imagine  the  shore  and  land  moving, 
while  it  is  they  themselves  all  the  while.  So  we 
often  think  that  God  is  changing,  when  the  change 
is  all  with  ourselves  ! " 

2.  Faith  regards  this  immutable  God  as  a  God 
in  covenant. 

"  My  Rock  !  "  Believer  !  you  have  the  same  im- 
moveable ground  of  confidence !  Look  to  your  God 
in  Christ,  who  has  made  with  you  ''an  everlasting 
covenant,  ordered  in  all  things,  and  sure  !"  He, 
"  ivilling  more  abundantly  to  shew  unto  the  heirs 
of  promise  the  immutability  of  His  counsel,  con- 
firmed it  by  an  oath :  that  by  two  immutable 
things,  in  which  it  was  impossible  for  God  to 
lie,  we  might  have  a  strong  consolation,  who  have 
fled  for   refuge   to   lay  hold   upon    the   hope   set 

+  Isaiah  x.  28. 


]  98  FAITH  AND  PEAYER. 

hefore  us.''  *  The  torcli  may  flicker  in  your  liand, 
the  flame  may  be  tlie  sport  of  every  passing  gust 
of  temiDtation  and  trial,  but  He  who  lighted  it 
will  not  suff"er  it  to  be  quenched-  "  Simon,  Simon, 
Satan  hath  desired  to  have  thee,  that  he  may  sift 
thee  as  luheat :  hut  I  have  'prayed  for  thee,  that 
thy  faith  fail  not"  i*  The  Great  Adversary  may 
attempt  to  rob  you  of  your  peace,  but  that  peace 
is  impeiishably  secured.  He  must  first  destroy 
THE  EocK,  before  he  can  touch  one  trembling  soul 
that  has  fled  there  for  refuge  !  He  must  first  im- 
crown  Christ,  before  he  can  touch  one  jev\^el  in 
the  purchased  diadems  of  His  people!  Your  life 
is  "hid  with  Christ  in  God;"  because  He  lives, 
"ye  shall  live  also!"  God  himself  must  become 
mutable,  and  cease  to  he  God,  ere  your  eternal 
safety  can  be  imperilled  or  impaired.  "If  we 
perish,"  says  Luther,  "  Christ  perisheth  with  us." 

Let  us  turn  now  to  the  Psalmist's  prayer. 
If  Faitli   be    called   the    eye.    Prayer    may   be 
called    tlie   win^s  of  the  soul.      No   sooner  does 

o 

Faith    descry   God    his    "EoCK,"    than   forthwith 

*  Heb.  vi.  17,  18.  t  Luke  xxii.  31. 


FAITH  AND  PEAYER.  199 

Prayer  spreads  out  her  pinions  for  flight.  In  the 
close  of  the  preceding  verse,  (when  in  the  extremity 
of  his  agony,)  David  had  announced  his  deter- 
mination to  betake  himself  to  supplication — ''In 
the  night  His  song  shall  he  luith  me,  and  my 
prayer  unto  the  Ood  of  my  life."  He  follows 
up  his  resolution  now  with  material  for  petition. 
He  puts  on  record  a  solemn  and  beautiful  liturgy— 
"I  will  say  unto  God  my  Rock,  Why  hast  Thou 
forgotten  me  ?  tvhy  go  I  mourning  because  of  the 
oppression  of  the  enemy  ?  As  ivith  a  sword  in 
my  hones,  mine  enemies  reproach  me;  while  they 
say  daily  unto  me.  Where  is  thy  God  ?" 

How  wonderfully  does  God  thus  overrule  His 
darkest  dispensations  for  the  exercise  and  discipline 
of  His  people's  spiritual  graces !  In  their  overflow- 
ing prosperity  they  are  apt  to  forget  Him.  He 
sends  them  afflictions.  Trial  elicits  faith — faith 
drives  to  prayer — prayer  obtains  the  spiritual  bless- 
ing !  It  was  the  sense  of  want  and  WTetchedness 
which  drove  the  prodigal  to  cry,  "  Father,  I  have 
sinned !  "  It  was  the  "  buffeting  "  thorn  which  sent 
Paul  thrice  to  his  knees  in  the  agony  of  supplica- 
tion, and  broil dit  down  on  his  soul  a  rich  heritaoje 


200  FAITH  AND  PKAYER. 

of  spiritual  blessing.  It  was  these  surging  waves 
: —  the  "  deep  calling  to  deep  "  —  which  elicited 
the  cry  from  this  sinking  castaway,  ''  My  heart 
is  overwhelmed :  lead  me  to  the  EocK  that  is 
higher  than  /  /  "  "  Behold  he  peayeth  !  "  Thai 
announcement  seems  in  a  moment  to  turn  the  tide 
of  battle,  and  chano;e  the  storm  into  a  calm.  Weil 
has  a  Christian  poet  written  : — 

"  Frail  art  thoii,  0  man,  as  a  bubble  on  the  breaker  ; 
Weak,  and    govern'd  by    externals,  like  a  poor  bird 

caught  in  the  storm  : 
Yet  thy  momentary  breath  can  still  the  raging  waters ; 
Thy  hand  can  touch  a  lever  that  may  move  the  world." 

The  struggle  till  now  may  have  seemed  doubtful ; 
"  hut  they  that  wait  upon  the  Lord  shall  renew 
their  strength;  they  shall  mount  up  luith  wings 
as  eagles.'"  *  It  is  said,  the  beautiful  plumage  of 
the  Bird  of  Paradise  not  only  impedes  its  flight 
when  flying  against  the  wind,  but  often  in  the 
ineffectual  effort  it  is  brought  helpless  and  ex- 
hausted to  the  ground — its  golden  hues  soiled  and 
ruffled.  When,  however,  a  gentle  breeze  siDrings 
up,  it  spreads  out  its  feathers  in  a  fan-like  shape, 

*  Isaiah  xl.  31. 


FAlllI  AND  PPcAYEE.  201 

and  is  borne  joyously  along !  So  with  tlie  believer. 
When  he  is  called  to  do  battle  with  unbelief,  the 
wings  of  faith  are  often  soiled,  and  mutilated,  and 
broken ;  he  falls  a  helpless  thing  to  the  earth. 
But  when  God's  own  south  wind  blows,  he  spreads 
out  his  glorious  plumage,  and,  rising  on  the  pinions 
of  prayer,  is  borne  onwards  and  upwards  to  the 
region  of  heavenly  peace  and  joy  ! 

There  are  one  or  two  characteristics  in  David's 
prayer  worthy  of  note,  with  which  we  shall  sum 
up  this  chapter. 

1.  Observe  his  instant  resort  to  the  "  God  of 
his  life!'' 

No  sooner  does  the  thought  of  prayer  suggest 
itself,  than  he  proceeds  to  the  sacred  exercise. 
Like  the  prodigal,  not  only  does  he  say,  ''  I  will 
arise  and  go,"  but  the  next  record  in  his  history  is, 
"And  he  arose,  and  came  to  his  father.''^  Oh, 
liovv  much  spiritual  benefit  we  miss  by  procrastina- 
tion! The  cloud  of  blessing  floats  over  our  heads, 
but  we  fail  to  stretch  forth  the  electric  rod  of 
prayer  to  fetch  it  down  !  We  determine  on  em- 
barking, but,  by  guilty  delay,  we  allow  the  vessel 

*  Luke  XV.  20. 


202  FAITH  AND  PEAYEE. 

to  weigh  anchor,  and  we  are  left  behind.  ^Many 
an  afflictive  dispensation  thus  loses  its  sanctifying 
design.  AVhen  the  heart  is  crushed  and  broken, 
the  heavenly  voice  sounds  startling  and  solemn  1 
What  a  season,  if  timeously  improved,  for  enrich- 
ment at  the  mercy-seat !  When  "  things  present "  are 
disenchanted  of  their  spell, — when  time  is  brought 
to  hold  its  relative  insignificance  to  eternity,  what 
a  season  for  the  self-emptied  one,  to  go  to  the  all- 
fulness  of  Jesus,  and  receive  from  Him  every 
needful  supply !  But,  alas !  we  often  know  not 
''the  day  of  our  merciful  visitation."  The  heart, 
when  the  hammer  might  be  falling  on  it,  and 
welding  it  to  the  Divine  will,  is  too  often  suffered 
to  cool.  Solemn  impressions  are  allowed  to  wear 
away, — the  blessing  is  lost  by  guilty  postponement. 
David  might  now  have  been  so  absorbed  in  his 
trials,  as  to  have  lost  the  opportunity  of  prayer. 
He  might  have  invented  some  vain  excuses  for 
procrastination,  and  missed  the  blessing ;  just  as 
the  disciples,  by  their  sluggish  indifference  and 
guilty  slumber,  drew  down  the  thrice-repeated  re- 
buke from  injured  Goodness,  "  Could  ye  not  luatch 
with  me  one  hour?"     But  the  golden  moment  is 


FAITH  AND  PRAYER.  203 

not  suffered  by  him  thus  to  pass.  No  sooner  does 
he  get  a  glimpse  of  the  path  of  prayer,  than  he 
proceeds  to  tread  it.  The  very  fact  of  the  fire 
being  so  low,  is  the  most  powerful  reason  for 
stirring  it.  Her  Lord  being  lost,  is  the  strongest 
argument  for  the  Spouse  seeking  Him  without  delay  ; 
— "I  icill  rise  noiv;  and  go  about  the  city  in  the 
streets,  and  in  the  broad  ways  I  will  seek  Him 
whom  my  soul  loveth"  * 

2.  Observe  David's  importunity.  He  waxes 
into  a  holy  boldness.  He  seeks  to  know  from 
''the  God  of  his  life "  the  reasons  of  this  apparent 
desertion — ''  '  Why  hast  Thou  forgotten  me  V  I  can- 
not see  or  understand,  as  Thy  covenant  servant,  the 
reason  of  all  this  depression — ^why,  with  all  those 
promises  of  Thine,  these  hands  should  be  hanging 
down,  and  these  knees  be  so  feeble." 

The  mother  does  not  cast  off  her  sick  or  feeble 
child.  Its  very  weakness  and  weariness  is  an  addi- 
tional argument  for  her  care  and  love,  and  draws 
her  heart  closer  than  ever  to  the  bed  of  the  tiny 
sufferer  !  David  knew  well  that  God,  who  had 
ever  dealt  with  him  "  as  one  whom  his  mother  ccm- 

*  Sol.  Song  iii.  2. 


204  FAITH  AND  PRAYER. 

forteth/'  would  not  (unless  for  some  wise  reason) 
leave  him  to  despondency.  Looking  to  this  immu- 
table Covenant-Jehovah,  and  lifting  his  voice  high 
above  the  water-floods,  he  thus,  in  impassioned 
prayer,  pleads  "  the  causes  of  his  soul:" — "  In  Thee, 
0  Lord,  do  I  put  my  trust;  let  me  never  he 
ashamed  :  deliver  me  in  Thy  righteousness.  Bow 
doiun  Thine  ear  to  me;  deliver  me  speedily:  he 
Thou  7mj  strong  rock,  for  an  house  of  defence  to 
save  me.  For  Thou  art  my  rock  and  my  fortress  ; 
therefore  for  Thy  names  sake  lead  me,  and  guide 
me.  Pull  me  out  of  the  net  that  they  have  laid 
privily  for  me :  for  Thou  art  my  strength.  Into 
Thine  hand  I  commit  my  spirit:  Thou  hast  re- 
deemed me,  0  Lord  God  of  truth.'"  ^ 

3.  The  Psalmist  takes  his  special  trouble  to 
God,  and  makes  it  the  suhject  of  prayer.  He 
names  in  the  Divine  presence  the  cause  of  liis  deep- 
est perplexity.  "As  with  a  sword  in  my  hones, 
mine  enemies  reproach  me,  luhile  they  say  daily 
unto  me,  Vfhere  is  thy  GodV  f 

"  Generalities,"  says  a  good  man,  "  are  the  death 
of  prayer."     The  loftiest  iDiivilege  the  believer  can 

♦  Psalm  xxxi.  1-5.  f  Verse  10. 


FAITH  AND  niAYEU.  205 

enjoy  is  tlit  confidential  unburdening  of  his  wants 
into  the  ear  of  a  Father.  Just  as  a  child  can 
freely  unbosom  to  a  parent  what  he  can  do  to  no 
one  else,  so  are  we  permitted  to  tell  into  the  ear  of 
our  Father  in  heaven  w^hatever  may  be  the  heart- 
sorrow  with  which  a  stranger  (often  a  friend)  dare 
not  intermeddle.  See  the  speciality  in  the  Psalm- 
ist's confession  of  his  sin.  It  is  not  the  general 
acknowledgment  of  a  sinner.  It  is  rather  a  hum- 
bled penitent  carrying  one  deep  crimson-stain  to  the 
mercy-seat ;  bringing  it,  and  it  alone,  as  if  for  the 
moment  he  had  to  deal  resjiecting  it  only  with  the 
great  Heart-searcher.  "  My  sin  is  ever  before  me." 
"  I  have  done  this  evil  in  Thy  sight."  "  Wash  me 
from  mine  iniquity,  and  cleanse  me  from  my  sin." 
"  I  said,  I  will  confess  my  transgressions,  and  Thou 
forgavest  the  iniquity  of  my  sin.''* 

Let  us  not  think  that  we  can  ever  have  comfort 
in  merging  individual  sins  in  a  general  confes- 
sion. This  is  the  great  and  pre-eminent  advantage 
of  secret  closet-prayer.  Social  prayer  and  pul)lic 
prayer  are  eminently  means  of  securing  tlie  Divine 
blessing  ;  but  it  is  in  the  quiet  of  the  chamber, 

♦  Psalms  li.  and  xxxii. 


206  FAITH  AND  PEAYER. 

wlien  no  eye  and  car  are  on  us  but  that  of  "  our 
Father  tliat  seeth  in  secret,"  that  we  can  bring  our 
secret  burdens  to  His  altar, — crucify  our  secret  sins, 
acknowledge  the  peculiar  sources  of  our  weakness 
and  temptation,  and  get  special  grace  to  help  us  in 
our  times  of  need. 

But  we  may  here  ask,  Have  we  any  assurance 
that  the  ]3rayers  of  David,  at  this  critical  emergency, 
were  indeed  answered  ?  Or,  (as  we  are  often  temj^ted 
in  seasons  of  guilty  unbelief  to  argue  regarding 
our  prayers  still,)  did  they  ascend  unheard  and  un- 
responded  to  ? — did  the  cries  of  the  supplicant  die 
away  in  empty  echoes  amid  these  glens  of  Gilead  ? 
We  have  his  own  testimony,  in  a  magnificent  ode  of 
his  old  age,*  one  of  tlie  last,  and  one  of  the  noblest 
his  lips  ever  sung,  that  Jc^iovah  had  heard  him  in 
the  day  of  his  trouble.  It  is  a  Psalm,  as  we  are 
told  in  the  title,  written  by  him  on  his  return  to 
his  capital,  when  victory  had  crowned  his  arms,  and 
his  kingdom  was  once  more  in  peace.  The  aged 
Minstrel  takes  in  it  a  retrospective  survey  of  his 
eventful  pilgrimage.  Many  a  ]\Iizar-hill  in  the  long 
vista  rises  conspicuously  into  view.     He  climbs  in 

*  Psalm  xviii. 


FAITH  AND  PRAYER.  20? 

thought  their  steeps,  and  erects  his  Ebenezer  !  As 
his  flight  and  sojourn  beyond  Jordan  formed  tlie  hitest 
occurrence  in  that  chequered  life,  we  may  well  be- 
lieve that  in  uttering  these  inspired  numbers,  the 
remembrance  of  his  memorable  soul-struo-ole  there 
must  have  been  especially  present  to  his  mind. 
Let  us  listen  to  his  Own  words  :  "  The  sorrows  of 
death  compassed  me,  and  the  floods  of  ungodly 
MEN  made  me  afraid.  .  .  .  In  my  distress  I  called 
upon  the  Lord,  and  cried  unto  MY  God  :  He 
HEARD  my  voice  out  of  His  temple,  and  my  cry 
CAME  before  Him,  even  into  His  ears."  In  the 
sublimest  poetical  figures  of  all  his  Psalms,  Jehovah 
is  further  represented  in  this  hymn  of  thanksgiv- 
ing as  hastening  with  rapid  flight,  in  august  sym- 
bols of  majesty,  to  the  relief  and  succour  of  His 
servant — "  bowing  the  heavens  " — "  the  darkness 
under  His  feet " — "  riding  upon  a  cherub  " — "  flying 
upon  the  wings  of  the  wind  " — "  sending  out  His 
arrows,  and  scattering  His  foes " — "  shooting  out 
lightnings  " — and  "  discomfiting  them."  And  with 
the  writer's  mind  still  resting  on  the  same  emblems 
which  he  uses  in  his  Exile-Psalm, — the  "  deep  call- 
ing to  deep" — the  ''noise  of  the  water-spouts" — the 


208  FAITH  AND  PEAYER. 

"waves  and  billows," — lie  interweaves  otlier  refer- 
ences and  experiences  with  this  unequivocal  testi- 
mony to  God  his  "  Rock,"  as  the  Heaeer  of  prayer, 
— ''  He  sent  from  above,  He  took  me,  He  drew  me 

out  of  many  tuaters Who  is  God  save  the 

Lord  ?  or  who  is  a  Rock  save  our  God  ?  .  .  .  .  The 
Lord  liveth;  and  blessed  be  my  RoCK;  and  let  the 
God  of  my  salvation  be  exalted  I "  * 

Reader !  let  me  ask,  in  conclusion,  do  you  know 
in  your  experience  the  combined  triumphs  of  faith 
and  2>rctyer — these  two  heavenly  spies  that  fetch 
back  Eschol-clusters  of  blessing  to  the  true  Israel 
of  God  ?  Do  you  know  what  it  is,  in  the  hour  of  ad- 
versity, to  repair  to  "the  Rock  of  your  strength?" 
Do  you  believe  in  His  willingness  to  hear,  and  in 
His  power  to  save?  How  sad  the  case  of  those 
who,  in  their  seasons  of  trial,  have  no  refuge  to 
which  they  can  betake  themselves,  but  some  fluctu- 
ating, perishing,  earthly  one  ; — who,  when  they  lose 
the  world,  lose  their  all !  The  miser  plundered  of 
his  gold,  cleaving  to  the  empty  coffers ; — the  plea- 
sure-hunter seeking  to  drain  the  empty  chalice,  or 
*  Psalm  xviii.  16,  31,  46. 


FAITH  AND  PEAYEE.  209 

to  extract  honey  out  of  the  empty  comb; — the 
bereaved  grasping  with  broken  hearts  their  withered 
gourd,  and  refusing  to  be  comforted !  The  w^orld- 
ling  is  Uke  the  bird  buikling  its  nest  on  the  top- 
most bough  of  the  tree.  There  it  w^eaves  its  wicker 
dwelling,  and  feels  as  if  nothing  can  invade  its 
security  and  peace.  By  and  by  the  woodman 
comes, — lays  down  his  axe  by  the  root.  The 
chips  fly  off  apace.  The  pine  rocks  and  shivers ; 
in  a  few  moments  it  lies  prone  on  the  forest- sward. 
The  tiny  bird  hovers  over  its  dismantled  home — the 
scene  of  desolation  and  havoc — and  then  goes 
screaming  through  the  w^ood  with  the  tale  of  her 
woes !  The  Christian,  again,  is  like  the  sea-fowl, 
building  its  nest  in  the  niches  of  the  ocean  cliff, 
which  bids  defiance  at  once  to  the  axe  and  the 
hand  of  the  plunderer.  Far  below,  the  waves  are 
lifting  their  crested  tops,  and  eddying  pools  are 
boiling  in  fury.  The  tempest  may  be  sighing  over- 
head, and  the  wild  shriek  of  danger  and  death  rising 
from  some  helpless  bark  that  is  borne  like  a  weed 
on  the  maddened  waters.  But  the  spent  spray  can 
only  touch  these  rocky  heights, — no  more ;  and  the 

curlew,  sitting  w^ith  folded  wings  on  her  young,  can 
o 


21 0  FAITH  AND  PEAYEE. 

look  calm  and  undismayed  on  the  elemental  war. 
"  What  is  the  best  grounds  of  a  philosopher's  con- 
stancy," says  Bisho])  Hall,  "  but  as  moving  sands,  in 
comparison  of  the  Rock  that  we  may  build  upon  1" 

Yes  !  build  in  the  clefts  of  that  immoveable  Rock, 
and  you  are  safe.  Safe  in  Christ,  you  can  contem- 
plate undismayed  all  the  tossings  and  heavings  of 
life's  fretful  sea!  So  long  as  the  Psalmist  looked 
to  God,  he  was  all  secure.  When  he  looked  to  him- 
self, he  was  all  despondency.  Peter,  when  his  eye 
was  on  his  Lord,  walked  boldly  on  the  limpid  waves 
of  Gennesaret ;  when  he  diverted  it  on  himself,  and 
thought  on  the  dangers  around  him,  and  the  unstable 
element  beneath  him,  "  he  began  to  sink  !" 

Believer !  is  your  heart  overwhelmed  ?  Are  you 
undergoing  a  similar  experience  with  the  Psalmist? 
Your  friends  (perhaps  your  nearest  and  best)  mis- 
understanding your  trial,  unable  to  probe  the  seve- 
rity of  your  wound,  mocking  your  tears  with  un- 
sympathising  reflections  and  cruel  jests — "a  sword 
in  your  bones  1 "  Turn  your  season  of  sorrow  into 
a  season  of  prayer.  Look  up  to  the  God-man  Me- 
diator, the  tender  Kinsman  within  the  veil !  He 
knoweth  your  frame.       When  He   sees  your  frail 


FAITH  AND  PRAYER.  211 

bark  struggling  in  the  storm,  and  hears  the  cry  of 
prayer  rising  from  your  lips,  He  will  say,  as  He 
said  of  old,  "  I  know  their  sorrows,  and  I  will  sco 
down  to  deliver  them !  0  wounded  Hart  !  pant- 
ing after  the  water-brooks,  I  was  once  wounded 
for  thee.  0  smitten  soul !  seamed  and  scarred 
with  the  lightning  and  tempest,  see  how  I  myself, 
the  Rock  of  Ages,  was  smitten  and  afflicted ! " 
Ay,  and  thou  canst  say,  too,  "  God  MY  Roch ! " 
Thou  canst  individually  repose  in  that  sheltering 
Refuge,  as  if  it  were  intended  for  thee  alone. 
The  loving  eye  of  that  Saviour  is  upon  thee,  as 
if  thou  wert  alone  the  object  of  His  gaze, — as  if 
no  other  struggling  castaway  breasted  the  bUlows 
but  thyself ! 

Blessed  security,  who  would  not  prize  it !  Bless- 
ed shelter,  who  would  not  repair  to  it !  Oh  that 
the  Psalmist's  creed  and  resolution  might  be  ours 
— "  /  will  say  of  the  Lord,  He  is  my  Rock  and 
MY  Fortress,  and  my  Deliverer!' — "  0  come,  let  us 
sing  unto  the  Lord:  let  us  make  a  joyful  noise  to 
the  Rock  of  our  salvation  ! " 


XII. 


"  Ah,  if  oiir  souls  but  poise  and  swing. 
Like  the  compass  in  its  brazen  ring. 
Ever  level  and  ever  true, 
.  To  the  toil  and  the  task  we  have  to  do ; 

We  shall  sail  securely,  and  safely  reach 
The  heavenly  Isle,  on  whose  shining  beach 
The  sights  we  love  and  the  sounds  we  hear 
AVill  be  those  of  joy,  and  not  of  fear." 

"  David  utters  again  strains  of  hope ;  not  that  faint  and  com- 
mon hope  of  possibility  or  probability,  that  after  stormy  days 
it  may  be  better  with  him,  but  a  certain  hope  that  shall  never 
make  ashamed ;  such  a  Hope  as  springs  from  Faith,  yea,  in  effect, 
is  one  with  it,  .  .  .  Faith  rests  upon  the  goodness  and  truth  of 
Him  that  hath  promised;  and  Hope,  raising  itself  upon  Faith 
so  established,  stands  up,  and  looks  out  to  the  future  accomplish- 
ment of  the  promise." — Leighton. 

"  In  that  day,  the  light  shall  not  be  clear  nor  dark  :  ,  .  .  but 
it  shall  come  to  pass,  that  at  evening  time  it  shall  be  light." — 
Zech.  xiv.  6,  7. 

"  Wiiv  art  tf)ou  cast  bottJn,  <0  mv  soul  ?  antJ  ttiftn  art  tFou 
tJisquictiD  ttJitftin  mc  ?  ftopc  tfcou  m  450^ :  for  %  s&aH  net  p  aise 
!;im,  tofeois  tlje  f;caU&  of  mp  countenance,  anD  mn  45cD."— 
Verse  11. 


XII. 
THE  QUIET  HAVEN. 

We  have  now  reached  the  close  of  this  instructive 
Psahn — the  last  entry  in  the  experience  of  the 
Eoyal  Exile.  Here  is  the  grand  summing  up — "  the 
conclusion  of  the  whole  matter."  The  curtain  falls 
over  the  scene  of  conflict,  leaving  the  believer 
triumphant.  As  he  began  with  prayer,  he  now 
ends  with  praise ;  as  he  begau  with  weeping,  he 
now  ends  with  rejoicing ;  as  he  began  mourning 
over  the  loss  of  his  God,  he  ends  exulting  in  Him  as 
*'the  health  of  his  countenance."  We  are  reminded 
of  the  Great  Apostle  reaching,  by  successive  steps 
:a  his  high  argument,  new  altitudes  of  faith  and 
hope, — beginning  with  ''no  condemnation''  till  he 
ends  -with  "  no  separation^' — mounting  with  loftier 
sweep  and  bolder  pinion,  till  far  above  the  mists  and 
clouds  of  the  lower  valley,  he  can  utter  the  challenge, 
"  Who  shall  separate  me  from  the  love  of  Christ  ?"* 
Joyful  is  it  when  a  protracted  war,  which  has 

*  Romans  viii. 


214  THE  QUIET  HAVEN. 

been  drainino-  a  nation's  resources  and  riflino^  its 
homes,  is  drawing  to  a  close, — when  an  army,  amid 
hostile  tribes,  and  the  more  fatal  ravages  of  a  hos- 
tile climate,  has  succeeded  in  trampling  out  the 
ashes  of  rebellion,  and  is  returning  triumphant 
from  hard-contested  fields  of  valour.  Joyful  is  it 
when  a  noble  vessel,  that  has  for  long  been  wrest- 
ling with  the  storm,  enters  at  last  the  desired  haven, 
— when  the  voyagers,  who  for  hours  of  anxiety  and 
terror  have  been  hanging  with  bated  breath  between 
life  and  death,  can  now  pass  the  gladdening  watch- 
word from  mouth  to  mouth — "  Thank  God,  we  are 
safe !"  Joyful,  too,  when  the  tried  believer,  as 
described  in  this  Psalm, — ''persecuted,  hut  not 
forsaken  ;  cast  down,  hut  not  destroyed^' — has  sur- 
mounted wave  after  wave,  that  has  been  threaten- 
ing to  sweep  him  from  his  footing  on  the  Kock,  and 
is  made  "more  than  conqueror  through  Him  that 
loved  him  ! "  The  wounded  Hart  we  found  in  the 
opening  verse  bounding  through  the  forest  glades, 
hit  by  the  archers,  with  glazed  eye  and  panting 
sides,  has  now  reached  the  coveted  Water-brooks ; — ■ 
the  fainting  soul  is  now  drinking  at  the  great  foun- 
tainhead  of  consolation  and  joy.   We  have  elsewhere 


THE  QUIET  HAVEN.  215 

an  appropriate  inspired  comment  on  the  whole 
Psalm,  with  its  successive  experiences  :  ''  Many  are 
the  afflictions  of  the  righteous :  hut  the  Lord  de- 
livereth  him  out  of  them  alV  * 

This  concluding  vefse  is  so  far  a  repetition  of  the 
fifth  ;  and  yet,  as  we  cursorily  noted  in  the  intro- 
ductory chapter,  there  is  an  important  difference 
between  them,  to  which  we  may  again  for  a  moment 
advert.  In  the  former,  it  is  on  the  part  of  the 
speaker  the  language  of  faith  in  the  midst  of  de- 
spondency, expressing  assurance  that  something 
ivill  be  his,  which  he  has  not  yet  attained :  ''Hope 
thou  in  God  ;  for  I  shall  yet  praise  Him  for  the 
help  of  His  countenance."  In  the  latter,  he  sum- 
mons his  soul  to  the  exercise  of  the  same  hope  and 
confidence  ;  but  he  now  can  exult  in  the  realised 
possession  of  God's  favour  and  love — "  Who  is  the 
health  of  my  countenance.''  Nay  more,  in  the  fifth 
verse  he  stops  with  the  words,  ''my  coimte nance ;'' 
but  in  the  closing  verse,  he  adds  the  expression  of 
appropriating  faith  and  triumphant  assurance.  It 
is  the  Key-stone  of  the  arch.  Two  little  words, 
which,  like  the  ciphers  following  the  unit,  give  an 

*  Psalm  xxxiv.  19. 


216  THE  QUIET  HAYEN. 

auoiiiented  value  to  all  that  s^oes  before! — ''My 
God  !"  The  two  last  divine  expedients  to  which  he 
had  resorted,  (faith  and  prayer),  have  not  been  in 
vain.  They  have  loaded  the  cloud  of  mercy,  and  it 
bursts  upon  the  suppliant  in  a  shower  of  blessing ! 

The  2  2d  Psalm  has  been  referred  by  commenta- 
tors to  this  same  period  of  exile  among  the  moun- 
tains of  Gilead.  There  is  much  to  confirm  this 
supposition  in  the  general  tone  of  the  Psalm,  as 
well  as  in  its  incidental  references.  There  is  tlie 
same  deep,  anguished  depression  of  spirit, — words, 
indeed,  denoting  such  an  intensity  of  sorrow,  that, 
though  primarily  applicable  to  David,  we  must  look 
for  their  true  exponent  in  the  case  of  a  Greater 
Sufferer.  The  challenge,  "  Where  is  thy  God  r  of 
the  42d,  seems  echoed  back  in  the  22d  by  the 
mournful  appeal,  "My  God,  my  God,  why  hast 
Thou  forsaken  me  ?" 

But  in  the  latter,  as  in  the  former,  (ere  it  closes,) 
light  breaks  through  the  thick  darkness.  By  a 
similar  exercise  of  faith  and  prayer,  the  Eoyal 
Mourner  triumphs.  "Deliver  my  soul,''  says  he, 
"from  the  sword;  my  darling  from  the  power  of 
the  dog.   Save  me  from  the  lion's  mouth."   (Ver.  20, 


THE  QUIET  HAVEN.  217 

21.)  The  prayer  is  heard  while  he  is  yet  speaking! 
At  this  point  of  the  Psalm,  the  language  all  at  once 
passes  from  complaint  into  exultation — from  prayer 
into  praise ;  and  the  voice  of  victory  rises  higher 
and  higher,  tiU  it  reaches  the  close.  God  has  taken 
off  his  sackcloth,  and  girded  him  with  gladness. 
He  already  anticipates  the  hap]3y  time  when  again 
he  shall  be  the  leader  of  the  festal  throng  on  the 
heights  of  Zion.  ''Thou  hast  heard  me"  is  his 
opening  burst  of  triumph,  "from  the  horns  of  the 
unicorns.  I  will  declare  Thy  name  unto  my 
brethren  :  in  the  midst  of  the  congregation  luill  I 

Ijraise  Thee My  praise  shall  he  of  Thee  in 

the  great  congregation :  I  will  pay  my  vows  before 
them  that  fear  Him"  * 

Nay,  further ;  what  Psalm  succeeds  the  22d  ?  Is 
it  mere  accidental  arrangement  which  has  given  the 
beautiful  23d  (the  best  known  and  loved  of  all 
David's  Psalms)  the  immediate  sequence  ?  Is  it  a 
mere  devout  imagination  which  leads  us  to  regard 
it  (from  the  place  it  occupies  in  the  Psalter)  as  the 
next  his  hand  penned  and  his  lips  sung,  after  these 
plaintive  elegies?     This  Song  of  the  chosen  flock 

*  Psalm  xxii.  21,  22,  25. 


218  THE  QUIET  HAVEN. 

is  not,  as  many  think,  the  Psalm  of  his  boyhood, 
written  in  the  days  of  his  innocence,  with  his  shep- 
herd's crook  and  harp,  in  the  Valleys  of  Bethlehem, 
The  imagery  of  the  Psalm  may  indeed  have  been 
taken  from  this  sunny  season  of  his  youth.  But,  as 
it  has  been  suggested,*  the  emblem  may  as  likely 
have  been  borrowed  from  seeing  a  flock  of  sheep  in 
these  grassy  regions  reposing  by  "  green  pastures " 
and  "  still  waters" — or,  at  other  times,  wending  their 
way  out  of  some  "  dark  valley  ; " — one,  perhaps  a 
timid  wanderer,  clenched  in  the  arms  of  the  Shep- 
herd, on  his  way  with  it  back  to  the  fold ! 

We  have  witnessed,  after  a  day  of  gloomy  fog 
and  rain  and  thunder,  the  dense  curtain  that  over- 
hung the  landscape  rolling  away.  — •  The  clouds 
break,  gleaming  vistas  appear  through  their  golden 
linings ;  and  the  rays  of  the  long-imprisoned  sun 
shine  down  upon  ten  thousand  sparkling  pearls  on 
grass  and  flower.  The  choristers  of  wood  and 
grove  had  till  then  been  silent ;  but  now  are  they 
seen  brushing  the  rain-drops  from  the  branches, 
and    filling    the    air    with    their    music,    and    all 

*  See  these  references  to  the  22d  and  23d  Psalms  well  stated 
in  Blaikie's  "  Da^dd,  King  of  Israel,"  pp.  322,  323. 


THE  QUIET  HAVEN.  219 

nature  is  glad  again.  So  it  is  with  the  Great 
Singer  of  Israel ;  so  long  as  God's  face  is  with- 
drawn, his  wings  are  folded — his  melody  hushed 
■ — his  harp  unstrung.  But  when  the  thunder-cloud 
has  passed, — when,  as  the  clear  shining  after  rain, 
the  longed-for  countenance  again  breaks  forth, — 
when,  in  answer  to  those  prayers  that  were  mightier 
than  the  armies  of  Joab  close  by,  his  enemies 
are  dispersed,  and  the  way  again  open  to  a  peace- 
ful return  to  his  capital, — may  we  not  imagine 
the  triumphant  conqueror — strong  in  the  Lord, 
and  in  the  power  of  His  might — making  the  Gilead 
valleys  resound  with  the  hymn  of  praise  ? — "  The 
Lord  is  my  shepherd;  I  shall  not  luant  He 
maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures :  He 
leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters/"*  As  he 
thought  of  all  the  trying  discipline  to  which  he 
had  been  subjected  to  test  his  faith,  drive  him  to 
prayer,  and  lead  him  to  thirst  more  ardently  for 
"the  living  God,"  he  could  say  in  the  retrospect, 
what  he  was  unable  to  do  at  the  time — "He  re- 
storeth  my  soul:  He  leadeth  me  in  the  paths  of 
righteousness  for  His  names  sake."  f     That  path 

*  Psalm  sxiii.  1,  2.  f  Psalm  xxiii.  3. 


220  THE  QUIET  HAVEN. 

was  a  rugged  one — that  trial  a  severe  one — ^wlien 
he  was  found  setting  out  barefoot,  and  dim  with 
tears,  across  Mount  Olivet,  compelled  to  take 
refuge  beyond  Jordan  amid  the  wilds  of  Bashan. 
But  he  acknowledges  now  that  these  were  ''paths 
of  righteousness.''  They  were  well  and  wisely 
ordered, — the  hand  of  his  God  liad  appointed  them. 
He  can  repeat  with  greater  assurance  his  for- 
bearing retort  to  the  curses  of  Shimei — "  Let  him 

CUESE   ON,    FOE    THE     LOED     HATH     BIDDEN     HIM." 

Moreover,  all  this  wilderness-experience  not  only 
sustained  him  in  the  present — it  nerved  him  for 
the  future.  G-od's  renewed  faithfulness  in  this 
trying  hour  was  a  pledge  for  all  time  to  come. 
He  had  added  another  Mizar-hill  to  former  me- 
morials of  the  Divine  goodness.  With  the  pros]3ect, 
at  his  advanced  ao-e,  of  the  last  and  terminatino; 
trial  of  his  pilgrimage,  (the  descent  to  the  deepest 
and  gloomiest  ravine  of  all,)  he  could,  with  his  eye 
on  the  guiding  Shepherd,  exclaim — "  Yea,  though 
I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death, 
I  loill  fear  no  evil :  for  Thou  art  tuith  me ;  Thy 
rod  and  Thy  staff  they  comfort  me'' *     Even  tem- 

*  Psalm  xxiii.  4. 


THE  QUIET  HAVEN.  221 

poral  mercies  bad  been  largely  and  bountifully 
suj^plied  him  in  the  place  of  his  exile.  The  power- 
ful chiefs  of  the  Transjordanic  tribes,  as  we  previ- 
ously observed, — "Shobi  of  Ammon,  and  Machir, 
and  Barzillai  of  Manasseh," — brought  the  rich  pro- 
duce of  their  fields  and  pastures  for  the  supply 
of  himself  and  his  army.  He  could  say — "  Thou 
hast  prepared  a  table  hefore  me  in  the  presence  of 
mine  enemies :  Thou  anointest  my  head  luith  oil; 
Tiiy  cup  runneth  over!'  *  And  now,  with  the  pro- 
spect before  him  of  a  joyful  return  to  his  throne, 
and  the  still  more  joyous  prospect  of  being  a 
w^orshipper  in  God's  house  on  earth, — the  type  of 
the  better  Temple  in  the  skies, — he  can  sing,  as  the 
closing  strain  of  his  exile — "  Goodness  and  mercy 
shall  follow  me  all  the  days  of  my  life  ;  and  I 
will  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  for  ever!'  -f- 

Reader  !  is  this  your  experience  ?  Is  this  the  re- 
sult of  your  temporal  afflictions,  the  end  of  your 
sj)iritual  conflicts, — to  lead  you  to  the  same  Shepherd 
of  Israel,  and  to  exult  in  Him  as  '*  the  health  of 
your  countenance,  and  your  God?"  Elimelech,  of 
old,  was  compelled  by  famine  to  leave  Bethlehem, 

*  Psalm  xxiii.  5.  +  Psalm  xxiii.  6. 


222  THE  QUIET  HAVEN. 

but  his  name  signified,  ''My  God  is  King!''  "When 
we  are  pressed  with  straits,  and  troubles,  and  per- 
plexities, let  us  make  that  name  our  strong  tower ! 
"My  God  is  King,"  is  a  glorious  motto.  Is  it 
the  heavings  and  convulsions  of  the  world's  na- 
tions— "kings  of  the  earth  setting  themselves, 
and  rulers  taking  counsel  together,"  from  motives 
of  personal  ambition,  or  political  jealousy,  or  lust 
of  conquest?  Write  upon  all  their  schemes,  Elime- 
LECH — ''My  God  is  King  I"  Is  it  the  apparently 
mysterious  discipline  through  which  some  may 
be  passing — bereavements  threatening  your  dwell- 
ing, or  the  hand  of  death  already  on  your  loved 
ones  ?  Write  on  the  darkened  threshold,  Elimelech 
— "  My  God  is  King  !"  Is  it  the  prospect  of  your 
own  death  that  is  filling  you  with  apprehension? 
Eemember  in  whose  hands,  under  whose  sove- 
reign control,  that  messenger  is.  Go  to  the  vacant 
Sepulchre  at  Golgotha,  and  read  that  writing  and 
superscription  which  the  "  Abolisher  of  death  "  has 
left  for  the  comfort  of  all  His  peoj^le: — "/  hare  the 
keys  of  the  grave  and  of  death."  Christian  !  even 
here,  in  these  gloomy  regions,  "  thy  God  is  King  V 
How  blessed  thus  to  be  able,  both  in  temporal 


THE  QUIET  HAVEN.  223 

and  spiritual  things,  to  lie  in  the  arms  of  His 
mercy,  saying,  "Undertake  Thon  for  ns!" — to  feel 
that  every  thread  in  the  web  of  life  is  v/oven  hy 
the  Great  Artificer, — that  not  one  movement  in 
these  swiftly  darting  shuttles  is  chance ;  but  aU  is 
by  His  direction,  and  all  is  to  result  in  good  !  In 
having  Himself  as  our  portion,  we  are  independent 
of  every  other; — we  have  the  pledge  of  all  other 
blessings.  ''Let  the  moveables  go,  the  inheritance 
is  ours ! "  Let  the  streams  fail,  we  have  the  in- 
exhaustible fountain!  "Drop  millions  of  gold," 
says  good  Bishop  Hopkins,  "boundless  revenues, 
ample  territories,  crowns  and  sceptres,  and  a  poor 
contemptible  worm  lays  his  One  God  against  them 
all."*  ''Our  all,"  says  Lady  Powerscourt,  "is  but 
two  mites  (soul  and  body).  His  all — Heaven, 
Earth,  Eternity,  Himself.''  We  have  said  in  a 
previous  chapter  that  the  loftiest  archangel  can 
tell  of  no  mightier  prerogative  than  looking  up  to 
the  Great  Being  before  whom  he  casts  liis  crovvii, 
and  saying,  "  My  God  ! "     We  can  utter  them  in  a 

*  "  Were  it  not  for  this  word  of  possession,  tlie  devil  might  say 
the  Creed  to  as  good  purpose  as  we.  He  believes  there  is  a  God 
and  Christ,  but  that  which  torments  him  is  this — he  can  say 
"  my"  to  never  an  ai'ticle  of  faith." — Sibhs. 


224  THE  QUIET  HAVEN. 

sense  higher  than  he.  He  is  OUE  Gocl  in  Christ 
The  words  to  us  are  written  (which  to  the  un- 
redeemed angels  they  are  not)  in  the  blood  of 
atonement !  Imagine,  for  a  moment,  a  conversation 
between  a  bright  angel  in  heaven  and  a  ransomed 
sinner  from  earth.  The  angel  can  point  to  a  past 
eternity ;  he  can  tell  of  a  glorious  pedigree ;  he 
can  point  up  to  his  Almighty  Maker,  and  say, 
"  He  has  been  my  God  for  ages  and  ages  past.  I 
have  been  kept,  supported,  gladdened  by  His  amaz- 
ing mercy,  long  before  the  birth  of  time  or  your 
world!"  "True,"  we  may  imagine  the  redeemed 
and  glorified  sinner  to  reply, — "but  I  can  tell  of 
something  more  wondrous  still.  He  is  my  God  in 
covenant!  Thou  art  His  by  creation,  but  I  am 
His  also  by  adoption,  filiation,  sonship.  Though 
grace  has  kept  thee  through  these  countless  ages, 
during  which  thou  hast  cast  thy  crown  at  His 
feet,  what  is  the  grace  manifested  to  thee,  in  com- 
parison with  the  grace  manifested  to  me  I  Grace 
made  thee  holy,  and  kept  thee  holy ;  but  grace 
found  me  on  the  brink  of  despair,  plucked  me  as 
a  brand  from  the  burning,  brought  me  from  the 
depths  of  woe  and  degradation,  to  a  throne  and  a 


THE  QUIET  HAVEN.  225 

crown  !     Thy  God  hath  loved  thee.     My  God  hath 
'loved  me'  and  given  Himself /or  me!" 

And  now  we  close  our  meditations  on  this  beau- 
tiful and  instructive  Psalm : — a  Psalm  which,  even 
since  we  have  begun  to  write  on  it,  we  have  seen 
clung  to  as  a  treasured  solace  in  hours  of  sickness  ; — 
its  sublime  utterances  soothing  the  departing  soul, 
just  as  it  was  pluming  its  wings  for  flight  to  the 
spii'it-world !  Keader !  in  any  future  dark  and 
troubled  passages  in  your  life,  you  may  well  with 
comfort  turn  to  this  diary  of  an  old  and  tried 
saint,  remembering  that  it  records  the  experiences 
of  "the  man  after  God's  own  heart."  Tracing  his 
footsteps  and  tear-drops  along  "  the  sands  of  time," 
you  shall  cease  to  "  think  it  strange  concerning  the 
fiery  trials  that  may  be  trying  you,  as  though  some 
strange  thing  happened."  You  will  find  that  "the 
same  afflictions  are  accomplished  in  you,"  which 
have  been  "accomplished''  in  the  case  of  God's 
most  favoured  servants  in  every  age  of  the  Church. 
Do  not  expect  now  the  ^i?^clouded  day.  That  is  not 
for  earth,  but  for  heaven.  God  indeed,  had  He 
seen   meet,  might  have  ordained  that  your  path- 


226  THE  QUIET  HAVEN. 

way  was  to  be  without  cloud  or  darkness,  trial  or 
tear ; — no  poisoned  darts,  no  taunts,  no  contumely, 
no  cross,  no  "deep  calling  to  deep," — nothing  but 
calm  seas  unfretted  by  a  ripple,  sunny  slopes  and 
verdant  valleys,  and  bright  Mizar-hills  of  love  and 
faithfulness !  But  to  keep  you  humble, — to  teach 
you  your  dependence  on  Himself, — to  make  your 
present  existence  a  state  of  discipline  and  proba- 
tion. He  has  ordered  it  otherwise.  Your  journey 
as  travellers  is  through  mist  and  cloud-land ;  — 
your  voyage  as  seamen  through  alternate  calm 
and  storm*  And  much  of  that  discipline,  too, 
is  mysterious.  You  cannot  discern  its  ''  why  "  and 
"  wherefore."  To  employ  a  former  symbol,  you  are 
now  like  the  vessel  building  in  the  dock-yard. 
The  unskilled  and  uninitiated  can  hear  nothing  but 
clanging  hammers  ; — they  can  see  nothing  but  un- 
shapely timbers  and  glare  of  torches.  It  is  a  scene 
of  din  and  noise,  dust  and  confusion.  But  all  will 
at  last  be  acknowledged  as  needed  portions  in  the 

*  "  Sometimes  I  can  rejoice  in  the  Mount  with  my  Redeemer. 

Sometimes  I  lie  in  the  Valley,  dead,  barren,  tmprofitable 

I  am  frequently  wounded  in  the  battle.  Blessed  be  God  that 
the  Physician,  the  Castle,  and  the  Fortress,  are  ever  at  hand." — 
Lkkcrstelh's  Life. 


THE  QTJIET  HAVEN.  227 

spiritual  workmanship; — wlien  the  soul,  released 
from  its  earthly  fastenings,  is  launched  on  the  sum- 
mer seas  of  eternity — 

*'  Give  to  the  winds  thy  fears, 

Hope  and  be  undismay'd. 
God  hears  thy  sighs  and  counts  thy  tears, 

God  shall  lift  up  thy  head  : 
Through  waves,  and  clouds,  and  storms. 

He  gently  clears  the  way ; 
Wait  thou  His  time — so  shall  this  night 

Soon  end  in  joyous  day."  * 

Above  all,  let  this  Psalm  teach  you  that  your 
spiritual  interests  are  in  safe  keeping.  No  wound- 
ed Hart  seeking  the  water-brooks  ever  sought  them 
in  vain.  When  drooping,  downcast,  disconsolate 
yourself,  remember  "  God  is  faithful."  "  He  can- 
not deny  Himself."  *'  He  satisfieth  the  longing  soul 
with  goodness.''  None  is  "  able  to  j^luck  you  out 
of  His  hand."  There  may  be  fluctuations — ebbings 
and  tlowings — in  the  tides  of  the  soul ;  but  '^  He  that 
hath  begun  a  good  work  in  you,  ^uill  carry  it  on 
until  the  day  of  the  Lord  Jesus."     You  may  reach 

*  ■'  David  might  have  gone  a  thousand  times  to  the  tabernacle 
and  never  found  a  thousandth  part  of  the  blessing  he  found 
in  this  wilderness.  It  was  in  the  absence  of  all  that  was  dear 
to  him  as  man,  he  found  his  special  solace  in  God." — Ilarington 
Evans. 


228  THE  QUIET  HAVEN. 

the  heavenly  fold  with  bleating  cries, — with  torn 
fleece  and  bleeding  feet ; — but  you  luill  reach  it,  if  you 
have  learned  to  sing,  "  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd  !" 
You  may  reach  the  water-brooks  with  languid  eye 
and  panting  sides ; — but  you  will  reach  them,  if  you 
can  truthfully  say,  "  3Iy  soid  tliirsteth  for  God,  for 
the  living  God  I"  You  may  begin  your  song  in 
the  minor-key,  but  if  "  My  God  "  be  its  key- 
note, you  will  finish  it  with  the  angels  and  among 
ministering  seraphim ! 

Go  then,  Christians !  and,  as  you  see  what  Faith, 
and  Hope,  and  Pkayek  did  for  the  Exile  of  Gilead, 
try  what  they  can  and  will  do  for  yoK.  With  all 
your  varied  trials,  with  all  your  manifold  sorrowful 
experiences,  who,  after  all  (this  Psalm  seems  to 
say)  so  favoured  as  you  ?  Who  possess  your  pre- 
sent exalted  privileges  ? — who  your  elevating  hopes? 
— the  consciousness,  even  in  your  trials,  that  each 
billow  is  wafting  you  nearer  the  haven  of  eternal 
rest?  "  These  see  the  works  of  the  Lord,  and  His 
wonders  in  the  deep.  For  He  commandeth,  and 
raiseth  the  stormy  wind,  which  lifteth  up  the  waves 
thereof.  They  mount  up  to  the  heaven,  they  go 
down  again  to   the  depths:   their  soul  is  melted 


THE  QUIET  HAVEN.  229 

because  of  trouble.  Then  they  cry  unto  the  Lord 
in  their  trouble,  and  He  bringeth  them  out  of  their 
distresses.  He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm,  so  that 
the  waves  thereof  are  still.  Then  are  they  glad 
because  they  be  quiet;   so   He   BRINGETH  them 

UNTO  THEIR  DESIRED  HAVEN  !  " 

*'  Soul,  then  know  thy  full  salvation. 

Rise  o'er  Ban,  and  fear,  and  care, 
Joy  to  find  in  every  station 

Something  stUl  to  do  or  bear. 
Think  what  Spirit  dwells  within  thee. 

Think  what  Father's  smiles  are  thine. 
Think  that  Jesus  died  to  save  thee — 

Child  of  heaven  !  canst  thou  repine  ? 

'*  Haste  thee  on  from  grace  to  glory — 

Arm'd  by  Faith  and  wing'd  by  Prayer  j 
Heaven's  eternal  days  before  thee, 

God's  own  hand  shall  guide  thee  there  I 
Soon  shall  close  thy  earthly  mission, 

Soon  shall  pass  thy  pilgrim  days ; 
Hope  shall  change  to  glad  fruition, 

Faith  to  sight,  and  Prayer  to  praise  I  * 


THE  END. 


BS1450.42.M13 

The  hart  and  the  water-brooks :  a 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary-Speer  Library 


1    1012  00051   6684 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD  #3523PI       Printed  in  USA 


